


Keep the Wolves at Bay

by Amethystina



Series: The Thunder Moon Chronicles [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (FINALLY), Bromance, Canon-Typical Violence, Feels, Gen, Imprisonment, M/M, Slash, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 78,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystina/pseuds/Amethystina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the full moon fast approaching the threat from the rival pack is more tangible than ever and Stiles isn't sure who will live or die when it finally does arrive. What he does know is that he and the others won't go down without a fight. It will all end on the night of the full moon.</p><p>Despite this Stiles' biggest fear isn't dying. He's afraid of losing something he hadn't even known that he could have until now. Because there's no use denying that Derek means a bit more to him than Stiles had initially thought.</p><p>The fact that it might be reciprocated only makes the fear of losing it that much greater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Study Group

**Author's Note:**

> And thus begins the third and final part of the Thunder Moon Chronicles. There will be a gathering of one shots set after the main story but they are optional and will be posted once this story is up.
> 
> I hope that you will enjoy it! This is going to be the most action packed part yet! With lots of angst and pain but also friendship and most of all love. Yes, the tag has been changed to slash because we are finally there, my lovelies. Nothing graphic however due to Stiles being underage (but if you're really, really looking forward to that there will be one shots with sexual content, once Stiles is old enough, so there's that).
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is still my very reliable beta and you can find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions! All four banners for this fanfic series can be found [here](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/post/56561655568/banners-for-my-frankly-ridiculously-long-sterek)
> 
> Now on to the story!

 

* * *

 

Never before had Stiles been so disappointed in his own poker face. He was almost on the verge of wishing that he could take some lessons from Derek or something because this clearly wasn't cutting it. His dad was onto him. Stiles just knew it. Or perhaps Stiles was just being paranoid.

His dad kept giving him strange looks but, then again, that might be a result of Stiles' not so subtle twitching whenever he felt his dad's gaze stray towards him. It wasn't like Stiles actually had a big neon sign pointing at him saying 'Derek Hale bought me breakfast pancakes and then played footsie with me for about an hour while my dad was sleeping', firstly because it was just ridiculous and secondly because that would never fit on a sign. Stiles still _felt_ like he had it written straight across his forehead and it had only been about two hours ago.

It was pathetic really. Keeping secrets about werewolves from his dad for several months, even when it often resulted in bloodshed and murders? Sure thing. Keeping it a secret that Stiles had had breakfast with a frankly gorgeous, exonerated murder suspect while his dad slept in a hospital room just a couple of corridors away? Completely transparent.

Not that Stiles' dad could possibly know that's what had taken place – thank _God_ – but it was obvious that he could tell that Stiles was trying to hide something. Because Stiles was suddenly the worst liar in the history of ever. Damnit. And his dad would ask eventually. Oh, he would most definitely ask and Stiles had no idea what to reply. He could lie of course but he didn't want to. And he couldn't exactly feign ignorance like last time they had almost crashed straight into that conversation a couple of days ago, because now Stiles knew. He _knew_ that there was something there. And his dad would see the lie on his face if he tried to deny it again.

So Stiles wanted very much to avoid that subject entirely. He didn't want to poke, prod or even glance in that direction. But he wasn't exactly doing himself any favors by looking so incredibly shifty and guilty as he did now.

Stiles took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the book in his lap. The pad with his hastily scribbled notes lay under Stiles' hand, balancing on the chair's armrest, his pen tapping out a rhythmic beat against the paper. He chewed on his bottom lip while trying – painstakingly – to read the musty old English printed across the fragile, yellowing pages. He had almost gotten the hang of it by then but it still made his eyes blur from time to time, trying to decipher the outdated language and words.

"Any luck?" his dad asked, casually nonchalant.

Stiles cleared his throat and glanced up at his dad, trying his best not to look like he had in fact had what almost counted as a date with a much older guy who was not exactly his dad's favorite person in the world right now and also insanely hot. Stiles knew that his dad wouldn't hesitate to bring out the guns if needed. And they probably were if he ever heard Stiles' thoughts on the whole Derek matter.

"Not much. There's some spells and chants and stuff but nothing that will help on the go, you know? All of it has to be prepared in advance," Stiles replied with a small huff. The wounds on his ankle were itching like crazy and he struggled not to bounce his leg up and down like usual.

"What were you hoping to find?" his dad asked with that patient, patented parent voice used whenever a mom or dad noticed that their kid was talking about something they had no clue about.

"Well, I don't know! Some kind of werewolf repellent?"

Stiles was being rather unfair though. He had found some nifty things but all of it was just small-scale tricks that wouldn't do much good when you had a feral werewolf charging towards you. Stiles would have preferred something concrete – something he could say might actually save his life in a situation of crisis. He wasn't even going to acknowledge the fact that he technically already had it.

He never wanted to use the gun again if he could help it.

"I don't think it's that easy," his dad pointed out sagely.

Stiles rolled his eyes and tossed his pen into the folds of the book, regretting it a moment later when it left a small mark, marring the otherwise stunningly well-preserved page. He rubbed his thumb against the ink stain – as if it would actually magically remove it – while sighing heavily.

"I know, Dad. It's just... so frustrating to be sitting here doing nothing!"

Even the hunters were out, setting up the quicksilver barriers all over town. Allison was dutifully reporting back to Stiles with the locations of all the spells and where they would later post guards, which Stiles then transferred to the medium sized map he had tucked in between the pages of his notebook, each barrier marked with bright yellow and the guard stations with angry red. Stiles was going to study the map in detail once he was sure that all the marks were in place but he doubted that he would find anything the hunters had missed. Stiles might not like them but they were good at what they did and both Allison and Chris Argent had probably lent their knowledge about the terrain and logistics to help them come up with the most airtight defense possible. It felt as if they were preparing for a siege.

"I know, Stiles. But we're working on it – all of us."

Stiles felt a pang of guilt at seeing the look on his dad's face. Stiles was being unfair. His dad couldn't do much either and that had to be even more infuriating than it was for Stiles.

He forced himself to smile, tentatively and a little flatly but still.

"Yeah, we'll just have to hope that they'll find something soon."

His dad nodded, barely even throwing a glance towards the TV that was showing some kind of cooking show. The sound was muted not to disturb Stiles and his reading but it wasn't like he was able to focus anyway.

"So, when are you going to tell me where you got that new phone from?" his dad asked casually. Too casually.

Stiles froze. He hadn't even thought about that, stupid as he was. His dad had watched him text back and forth with Allison the entire morning – on the phone Stiles had gotten from Derek, during their super secret do-not-under-any-circumstances-tell-your-dad-about-it-breakfast. Stiles had just been glad that he was able to keep in contact with the rest of the pack again and hadn't even stopped to consider that his dad would notice. And that his dad would find this quite surprising since Stiles had told him that his phone was broken. So of course he asked about.

Wow. Stiles was in such deep shit.

"I-... uh..."

Way to go there. He wasn't going to be able to convince a five-year-old of his innocence, let alone his _dad_. His dad who was currently raising a very meaningful eyebrow.

"Alright! Fine. Derek gave it to me." There was no use lying since it would only turn around and bite him in the ass in the end. Stiles pressed his lips together into a stubborn line, as if to dare his dad to question it. Judging on his dad's surprise he hadn't quite been prepared for that reveal.

"Derek? Why would he give you a phone?"

Stiles waved his hand in a sloppy circle.

"Well, he said that he would, for one, not that I thought that he would actually go through with it. But mostly it's because Scott and Erica will nag his ears off if they can't reach me. Or something to that effect."

His dad didn't look convinced. Not that Stiles could blame him. It did seem a little suspicious for Derek to be handing out expensive gifts like that. The meaning of said gift could be rather troubling to a father, Stiles assumed.

"So he just... gave you a phone? Just like that?" His dad's voice was laced with suspicion.

"Uh... yeah." Stiles tried to shrug nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal. He hastened to continue, not wanting his dad to get the wrong idea somehow, "I'm going to pay him back, I just couldn't afford it right now and time was of the essence. Okay?"

That might have been a flat out lie – Derek probably wouldn't accept money from him even if he threw it at the alpha's face – but if it made his dad feel better he would try. The phone didn't really mean anything. Well, much.

Stiles' dad gave him a suspicious, level glare.

"I'm guessing there's still nothing to talk about?" The words might have been innocent but the tone was not. That phrase coupled with that almost hostile edge was code by now; code for 'are you going to tell me about you being so chummy with that Hale kid yet?'.

Which Stiles had no intention of doing. Yet.

"Nope," he therefore croaked, avoiding his dad's gaze like the incredibly smooth liar that he was.

Luckily enough his dad just sighed in defeat and remained silent. Stiles knew that he was disappointing his dad when he refused to talk but he still wasn't okay with it. He still didn't want to talk. He had no idea what to say. He hadn't had the time to sort it all out yet.

Perhaps it was time to face the facts that he might actually need someone _else_ to talk to before he discussed it with his dad or, God forbid, Derek. Not that there were many candidates.

Scott would probably freak out, quickly followed by suffering puppy eyes and whines – not to mention that he was busy patrolling with the rest of the pack. Erica would laugh and tease and just be a general menace. Lydia would scare him to death. Allison would kill him. Isaac would probably try to flee. Boyd wouldn't care. Jackson, well, Stiles wasn't even going to go there. Danny would probably sigh and suffer through it while rolling his eyes. Which, on the other hand, was a rather acceptable scenario compared to the others. Danny also had firsthand experience – kind off – and might help set some of Stiles' thoughts straight. Figuratively speaking.

Yeah. Yeah, he could definitely do that.

He quickly started packing his things into his backpack, dumping it all on top of the gun still nestled in there like a silent, terrifying reminder of what Stiles had done; that Stiles had killed someone. He swallowed around the bile in his throat and pushed the thought as far away as he could. There was no time to wallow on that.

"Where are you going?" His dad sounded vaguely alarmed and Stiles gave him a comforting smile.

"I'm going to check on Danny and Lydia. I think they're at Lydia's house, doing-... well, whatever it is that they do when Jackson's not around." Stiles had no idea what that might be but he was definitely crashing that party if it meant that he could steal some minutes to talk to Danny.

Not to mention that he had actually found some spells that the others might be interested in. Ones that could protect your house and let in only those supernatural creatures you had allowed to enter. After the attack two nights ago he was pretty sure that both Danny and Lydia wouldn't mind carving those runes somewhere on their doorposts.

"You'll be careful, right?" his dad demanded, looking about as serious as he sounded.

Stiles swallowed but nodded. He still hadn't told his dad about the ultimatum – that Stiles was a target. He was not touching that with a ten foot pole. Not yet. He could wait another day or so.

"Of course, Dad. I'm just going to show them some of the stuff I've found and keep them company." He slung the backpack over his shoulder and limped over to his dad's hospital bed, patting his hand a little awkwardly, but with good intentions. "Besides, Mrs. McCall will probably show up soon for your daily little chat to keep _you_ company."

His dad looked a little shyly uncomfortable all of a sudden and Stiles felt a wide, goofy grin spread on his lips. Stiles wasn't the only one being transparent.

"You just relax and have fun with Mrs. McCall. I'll drop by sometime later tonight before heading back to Scott's to sleep."

His dad cleared his throat.

"Yes. Alright."

Stiles' cheeks _ached_ from all the grinning. He gave his dad a quick pat on the arm before he headed for the door with a slight spring to his steps, almost as if his ankle hadn't been punctured by werewolf claws.

"You let me know if anything happens," his dad said with that stern father voice of his.

"I will! Don't worry," Stiles called over his shoulder, waving as he went. He should have been at least nervous – perhaps even terrified – but right then he just had one goal in mind and that was to finally get some answers, whether Danny was up for it or not.

 

 

Of course Stiles' courage failed him as soon as he actually arrived. Perhaps it was because he had to call Lydia and beg her for a ride because limping all the way to her house just wasn't doable, and then had to spend the entire ride listening to her gloat about driving him. Lydia was a goddess – beautiful, fantastic and a genius – but she was also a bit of a bitch and Stiles would rather have spent the drive in silence, trying to figure out how to even broach the subject with Danny. He had a feeling that whatever way he did it he would fail spectacularly but that didn't mean that he wanted to throw himself into it without any kind of plan.

Danny was as Zen as ever – which was both a comfort and served to make Stiles even more nervous – and welcomed Stiles with a crooked albeit friendly smile. Stiles, being the dork that he was, beamed back.

Lydia soon had them all seated in the living room where she and Danny had been going through what turned out to be the translated pages from the beastiary, maps over the town and other papers Stiles would need more than a fleeting glance at to grasp fully. They had been just as busy as he had, in other words. He felt infinitely relieved that he had something to bring to the table – both literally and figuratively – and soon his own research joined Lydia's and Danny's.

They started working without introduction or preamble. Stiles was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his elbows on the low coffee table while Lydia and Danny claimed a couch each, with papers and books were strewn around them on every available surface.

Stiles got to add blue dots on his map to mark the surveillance cameras Danny had been able to hack into, Lydia poured over Stiles' notes, adding her own confirmations and thoughts in the margins with neat, precise handwriting while Danny opened one of the old tomes Stiles had brought. Danny still seemed generally unbothered by the fact that his arm was in a cast.

They didn't say much and Stiles wasn't sure if he had ever been this focused while in the same room as two people he desperately wanted to talk to – for two entirely different reasons, but still. He had priorities though and while he never forgot about his initial reason for coming – that burning question at the back of his mind that hadn't left him alone for over a week now – he was beginning to doubt that now was the time to bring it up. It was probably better to wait until the crisis was over, he told himself, because dealing with the homicidal werewolves was more important. Of course it was.

That didn't stop him from glancing towards Danny's every now and then, who in turn seemed completely oblivious or at least prepared to ignore Stiles until he grew a pair and actually said whatever was on his mind. It took about three hours before Lydia rolled her eyes, sighed like she was reluctantly doing the world a favor and announced that she was getting them some refreshments; after giving Stiles a very pointed, very murderous look. That, if anything, kicked him into gear.

He had no idea if Lydia knew what he wanted with Danny but it was obvious that there was something. And she was tired of waiting, but apparently kind enough to step outside the room to give them some privacy. If Stiles hadn't been so sure that he was slowly but surely leaving his crush on her behind him he would undoubtedly have fallen a bit more in love with her for that gesture.

It still took Stiles a couple of moments to gather enough courage and air to actually say anything. He was stupidly nervous and had no idea what on earth he was doing but he needed to know. He needed to talk to someone and Danny was definitely the one he trusted not to hurt or hate him for it.

"Hypothetically speaking..." Stiles hesitated, trying not to chicken out before even finishing the first sentence. His palms felt clammy and a cold shiver travelled down his spine. It was just him and Danny but Stiles was just about to blow something he had kept hidden for quite a while wide open. He cleared his throat, gathered his courage and forced the rest of the words out in a rush: "How do you know when you're not exactly straight?"

"This is about Derek, isn't it?" Danny shot back without even glancing up from his book or as much as a pause. Stiles spluttered in both panic and alarm.

"What?! NO! This is strictly hypothetical and-..." Stiles could recognize an effort in futility when he saw one – only made more obvious by the unconvinced, patient look Danny was giving him. Stiles released a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's about Derek."

Danny paused momentarily, as if to gauge exactly how to reply and what tone would be appropriate to use. Or perhaps he was just deciding what to have for dinner that evening. It was difficult to tell because Danny was annoyingly blank when he wanted to be and Stiles couldn't quite get a read on him.

"Well, I can't blame you. So is it you or him you're referring to?" Danny finally asked.

Stiles blinked.

"What?"

"Are you wondering if you're having a gay crisis or do you want to know if Derek might consider something other than women?" Danny sounded patient – more than usual at least – but there was a slight quirk to one of his eyebrows that suggested that he was just humoring Stiles and that misbehaving would mean the immediate termination of his cooperation.

Stiles blanched momentarily when he registered Danny's question. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

"Uh-... both? I think both." Stiles tried to sound casual but he was pretty certain that Danny caught the miniscule tremor in his voice. That would explain why Danny's expression softened, if only a little.

"Well, _you_ are definitely having a crisis but you're probably not gay. I'd say bisexual or perhaps pansexual." It was said with something close to nonchalance, as if it was something everyone knew at that point and shouldn't be surprised by. Stiles wished that he could say that it was a surprise but it really wasn't. He had only been ignoring the signs, but in light of the situation it was perhaps best to face the facts, even if they were terrifying.

"Derek is trickier," Danny continued effortlessly, shrugging while placing his pen in between the pages of the book in front of him, marking it for later. "He's difficult to read on a good day and he sends mixed signals. But even mixed signals is better than no signals at all, I guess."

Stiles wasn't sure if it was dread or hope that was rising in his chest. It might also have been indigestion, with his luck.

"What? So you-... there's a chance?"

Danny gave Stiles a level look, a tiny little smile spreading on his lips. It wasn't enough to show off his dimples but Stiles was pretty captivated by the sight none the less.

Yes. Stiles was definitely long overdue when it came to revaluating his sexual preferences.

"There's a chance with everyone, I think, you just have to find the right person to take the final step with. It comes easier to some." Danny seemed slightly wistful but the smile still lingered. "Perhaps you should just walk up to him and ask him out?"

Stiles choked on air and waved his hands in an abortive gesture.

"NO. _Definitely_ not! That's not advice – that's a way to get myself killed!"

Danny chuckled.

"Well, at least you'd know."

Stiles gave Danny a narrow-eyed glare.

"Danny, you suck." The slight pause in the conversation and Danny's raised eyebrow was everything Stiles needed to realize what he had said. He grimaced at his own lack of suave. "Yeah, I didn't really think that one through."

Danny rolled his eyes but straightened on the couch, leaning closer while his tone sharpened, just a little. He looked serious now and Stiles swallowed nervously.

"Jokes aside, Stiles, if there's one thing I _do_ know it's that you can't afford to just sit around waiting for it to happen on its own. Do you honestly think that _Derek_ would say anything or take the first step if he was actually interested?" Danny could sass like the best of them and the emphasis he put on Derek's name was like a work of art.

It said a million things, all at once – Stiles was fairly acquainted with most of them – and the conclusion was rather glaring. Derek definitely wouldn't take the first step since this concerned emotions and the possible prospects of prolonged and intimate interaction with another breathing, fully conscious being. Derek shunned that like the plague.

"Okay, valid point, but it would be totally awkward if I asked and he said no! We'd never be able to be in the same room again!" Stiles made cutting motions with his hands, as if that would help to illustrate what a fundamentally bad idea it would be to just lay it all out in front of Derek. He would be dead before the last syllable left his lips.

"I think that you underestimate Derek's ability to ignore you," Danny replied, clearly teasing but with a hint of truth.

"Haha. I'm serious!" Stiles deadpanned, trying to ignore the anxious twist in his stomach. He cleared his throat and gnawed a little on his bottom lip, trying to find a way to articulate his woes.

"I... I honestly don't know what to do..." he mumbled eventually, not even bothering to hide how lost and utterly confused he felt.

Neither of it was sudden – he had been running from it for a while now – but that didn't make it any easier to handle. Perhaps it had even made it worse.

It wasn't like Stiles had anything against being interested in guys as well as girls – oh no, it just meant more awesome people to make connections with – but the problem was that he seemed to have already decided who he was interested in. And that person wasn't nearly as open as Stiles was.

It didn't help that Derek had turned his head around so many times already that Stiles barely knew what was up or down anymore. It was confusing and exhausting. He just wanted someone to tell him what was going on and whether he was getting his hopes up for nothing.

The thought of being in an actual relationship with Derek was honestly just as scary as it was thrilling but Stiles never let himself linger on those thoughts for too long, simply because he had no idea if it was even a possibility. He had made the mistake of living out too many fantasies in his own head when it came to Lydia and he sincerely hoped that he had learned his lesson. Those fantasies never amounted to anything but crushed dreams and self-loathing. He didn't want to go down that road again.

But Derek wasn't Lydia. Derek was all harsh words and sharp edges but there were also moments of softness – moments of utter bliss. Stiles still felt his cheeks burn at the mere _thought_ of how he had spent his breakfast that morning, his feet tangled with Derek's under the table, both of them content with the silence and calm they had shared.

Whatever that meant – whatever that moment had sparked – was now sending Stiles' thoughts into a tailspin. Something was definitely going on between them and Derek was definitely lowering his guard around Stiles, even if he might not want to be reminded about it. Stiles wanted to know what it all meant but he had only just come to terms with the fact that he was more than straight – sorting out his feelings for a certain grouchy alpha was a little too much to ask on such a short notice. And it wasn't as if Derek was going to be making any sudden discoveries. The man was so adept at fleeing from his emotions that he deserved a medal. Alternatively a punch in the face to snap him out of it.

It basically felt as if they were both fumbling around in the dark and neither of them knew enough to reach whatever epiphany they needed at that point.

Danny's hand on his arm snapped Stiles back to the present. Danny gave him an imploring look, as if to make sure that he had Stiles attention before he proceeded to bestow whatever wisdom he was willing to grace Stiles with. Stiles really needed someone to tell him what was going on.

"Look, most of the time love and relationships isn't about floating seamlessly into each other's arms. Stuff like that only happens in fiction or to people like Scott and Allison. Most of us have to fight a little to get what we want. You're no different." Danny's voice was soft, almost kind, but not without a warning hint. "If you feel strongly enough about this – no matter if it's just physical or happens to be emotional as well – then it's worth the effort. But you have to _make_ an effort. It won't come easy."

Stiles wet his lips, avoiding eye contact just to gain a semblance of stability. He felt a painful clench in his abdomen and this time he knew that it was dread.

"You don't think that he would be interested in me, do you?" Stiles sounded pathetic.

Danny squeezed his arm before letting go.

"I honestly don't know, Stiles. You know him better than I do."

"Which means that I might as well give up. It's never going to happen." Stiles sighed and slumped against the table, forehead pressed against his notes and the by then happily colored map. His life was such a mess.

He had just decided to accept the fact that he was interested in guys as well as girls but the particular guy he was leaning towards was socially constipated and possibly prepared to murder him if he ever found out about Stiles' interest. And that was when Stiles was ignoring all the other problems with the werewolves trying to kill them, hunters sneaking around probably plotting to kill them eventually and his dad being at the hospital.

His life sucked.

"Neither was you or Lydia but you never gave up on that, did you?" Danny pointed out helpfully.

"As a matter of fact I did." Stiles didn't bother to raise his head from where it rested but he did hold up a finger as if to make a point. "I have given up on that. And with her there was at least a smidgeon of hope – imaginary or not. Derek hates me."

Danny snorted.

"No, he doesn't."

Yeah. Fair enough. Stiles might be a tad bit overdramatic now. Derek had bought him _pancakes_.

"Okay, fine, he probably doesn't," Stiles grumbled, "but he wouldn't do-... he wouldn't be interested in _that_."

"And Lydia would be?" Danny asked in disbelief, which was a slight blow to Stiles' pride but really, Danny had a point. If not because she was out of Stiles' league then because they weren't really that compatible as people.

"What wouldn't I be interested in?"

Stiles jumped at Lydia's question while she strode gracefully into the room, pushing a book out of the way with her bare foot to get some room to place a tray of refreshment on the floor next to the coffee table. Stiles stared at her with wide eyes.

"Uh-... you really don't want to know," he tried weakly, which only earned him a sharp look in return.

"No, Lydia, trust me – this time you don't want to know," Danny assured, looking almost amused. Probably because it wasn't his love life they were dissecting.

"This is about Derek, isn't it?"

Stiles had been on his way to reach for one of the tall glasses of juice but Lydia's bold, careless question made him topple over and thump to the floor in a flailing heap.

" _What_?!" he practically shrieked as he fought to right himself. "Does _everyone_ know about this?"

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look that suggested that he was being dumb, but also just a tiny bit cute.

"No, Stiles, just me and Danny. Possibly Allison," she replied with something that could have been a smile. Stiles wasn't quite sure. He struggled until he was sitting upright again, back supported against the couch and hands waving through the air as he gestured violently.

"Oh my _God_ please kill me now!" he wailed. He so didn't need this right now.

"It could have been worse," was Lydia's unhelpful contribution. Stiles glared daggers at her.

"Yeah, how?"

"If Scott or Derek figures it out," Danny offered, seemingly caught between pity and glee, the bastard. "Or your dad."

"I'm pretty certain my dad is well on his way already... he kind of-... uh... seems to suspect something," Stiles muttered sullenly and not without a hint of panic.

"But you didn't tell him anything?" Danny asked with a slight frown.

"No! Because I don't know! I'm just... confused..." Stiles rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm his careening heartbeat. He really didn't want to talk about this anymore. He had gotten some answers – sort of – and now he just wanted to put it all behind himself. At least for now. "Can we please drop this? Please? I really, really don't want to talk about it."

"Fine. But only because we have more pressing matters to attend to," Lydia replied with a clipped tone but there was something in her eyes – a devilish little glint – that said that Stiles hadn't heard the last from her about this subject. He tried not to groan in despair.

She did keep her promise for the time being though and settled down to hand out the snacks she had brought from the kitchen. Stiles tried not to show how hungry he suddenly was – it was several hours since he had eaten those pancakes with Derek after all – and forced himself not to look like a complete caveman when he ate.

His thoughts were spinning and even though he tried to deny it they always circled back to Derek. Every single time. And if the amused looks both Lydia and Danny kept sending his way was any indication he was pretty darn obvious about it too. He tried to scowl at them to make them stop but they just rolled their eyes, almost fondly, before scoffing.

The situation wasn't helped in the least when Stiles received a text and quickly fished his phone out of his pocket to see what was up. It probably wasn't Allison since the hunters had finished with the barriers long ago but it could be the pack. They were still out searching in the woods.

**From: Sourwolf**  
_Meeting at the train depot in an hour. Tell all the others._

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek not to grin like a complete loon but as soon as he looked up at Lydia and Danny he knew that he had botched that completely. He wasn't even sure why he wanted to smile so badly. Perhaps it was because Derek trusted him with important pack business or perhaps it was because Derek texted him or perhaps it was just because of _Derek_. Plain and simple Derek. Although there wasn't anything plain or simple about their alpha.

Stiles cleared his throat.

"Uh... there's a meeting in an hour. At the train depot." He waved his phone a little to show where he had gotten the information from. "Derek told me to tell the others."

Danny just about snorted on his contained laugh.

"Oh, did he now?" Lydia's voice was deceptively sweet. "Well, you better not disappoint your alpha, Stiles. Tell the others while we get ready."

She sounded perky and actually quite delighted, which was in stark contrast to Stiles who spluttered like a drowning man.

"Wha-... he's not _my_ alpha!" he defended vehemently. Lydia quirked an eyebrow.

"He's the pack's alpha, Stiles, and you are a part of the pack, right? Hence, your alpha," she replied innocently but that devilish glint – oh damn that devilish glint – was back. Stiles felt a sudden urge to pout. Semantics. She was teasing him using _semantics_.

Danny reached over and patted him consolingly on his shoulder.

"Look at it from the bright side, Stiles," Danny whispered, so low that Lydia couldn't hear them. "You were the first one he wanted to tell about the meeting. Not Scott or any of the betas. You. And he apparently trusts you enough to ask you to forward it to the rest of us." Danny smiled conspiratorially. "That's a rather blatant signal right there."

Stiles blinked, completely dumbfounded, before a wide, goofy smile made itself known and he had to fight an urge to hide his face against the couch cushions because he just knew that he was blushing beet red. Danny winked before getting up from his couch but Stiles had to take an extra moment to just soak it all in.

Perhaps Derek was just using him as a glorified messenger but at the same time, wasn't Derek the one who avoided contact if he could? Now he sought it out without really needing to – he could easily have told the pack himself instead of dragging Stiles into the mix. Unless he of course wanted Stiles to know first. Danny had a point. That was definitely something. Something to cling to.

Stiles grinned as he started composing a quick text to spread the news.

A blatant signal indeed.

 


	2. Developments

 

* * *

 

Stiles and Danny hitched a ride with Lydia since she was the only one who had a car at her immediate disposal and didn't suffer from a broken arm. Stiles was beginning to really miss his Jeep and couldn't help picturing it standing there in the driveway at the house, feeling forlorn and forgotten. Not that Stiles really minded how little money he suddenly spent on gas but with his ankle still on the mend he would need to be driven nearly everywhere. And that would get old really quick. Perhaps he could convince Lydia to drop him off at his house when they headed back from the meeting.

Unlike last time they didn't wait for the entire party to arrive before they headed down the stairs to the train depot, mostly because they all felt pretty uncomfortable standing out there in the open. Two of them were wounded and while Stiles held no doubt in his mind that Lydia could glare almost anyone into submission they felt safer inside. Which was something Stiles never thought that he would have to admit to himself. He felt _safe_ inside the moldy, rusty train depot.

God. He was turning into Derek.

They had timed it rather nicely though since they had barely found themselves some proper seats and asked how long they would have to wait before the first werewolves tumbled down the stairs. Quite literally since Scott and Isaac seemed to be in the middle of a particularly violent shoving game that had them both tripping over their own feet. Stiles briefly wondered if he would have to worry about broken necks at some point in their near future but the two idiots managed to descend unscathed, wide, dorky grins plastered on their faces.

"Hey! How was your day?" Scott made a beeline for Stiles – as he seemed to have developed a habit of doing ever since Stiles almost became monster chow – still smiling brightly but with a slightly concern hint to it. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Fine, Scott. I'm still alive and in one piece. Nothing of importance happened," Stiles replied with a drawl, ignoring Danny's meaningful look. He was so not going to talk about his little bisexual crisis with Scott in front of everyone. There was a time for everything and now was definitely not it.

Scott didn't press for details and instead just bumped his shoulder against Stiles', grinning playfully. Erica came striding down the stairs a moment later, quickly followed by Derek. Stiles tried to deny that his gaze automatically settled on the alpha, a swift assessment assuring him that Derek was fine. Not that he had any reason to believe that Derek wouldn't be. It just happened. Perhaps it was instinctual or something. No big deal.

Stiles turned to Scott in an attempt to prove to himself that he was not – definitely not – ridiculously attuned to everything Derek did and could barely keep his eyes off him.

"How did your day go?" Stiles returned the question to Scott, who shot Derek a quick glance before replying.

"Let's wait for Jackson and Boyd. They were further off than the rest of us but they should be back any minute now."

Stiles nodded absently and it took him a moment to realize that the pack had been divided into the very same pairs he had suggested to Derek during their breakfast. Huh. Well, that could either be a serious coincidence or not a coincidence at all. Stiles was willing to bet on the latter judging on the quick and almost awkward look their alpha gave him.

Stiles couldn't help smiling at him, which only had Derek looking away faster. But there was a small twitch – almost subtle enough that Stiles would have missed if he hadn't been looking straight at Derek – that could have been the beginning of a smile if Derek had let it evolve that far. Stiles preened a little at that but decided to behave and not tease the alpha about it.

Scott jumped up to sit next to Stiles on his chosen crate, pressed close to his side but still not overbearing somehow. His presence was comforting even if it was partly founded in fear – at least from Scott's side – but Stiles wouldn't even dream of pushing him away. Scott had been a little more clingy and protective since the night of the werewolf attack but Stiles could accept it for the sign of care and devotion that it was. Scott just wanted to make sure that he was alright.

He did get kind of annoyed at how Scott immediately stared fidgeting and squirming beside him though.

"Dude?" Stiles hissed after he got a particularly sharp elbow in his ribs. Scott looked so apologetic and miserable that Stiles felt guilty for snapping, which was just Scott in a nutshell, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

Scott didn't get any further before Derek was suddenly standing before them, holding out his hand towards them. Or Stiles, more correctly. Stiles' brain short circuited. He didn't have anything Derek might want. Was he supposed to take Derek's hand? In front of everyone?

What was going on?

"Your backpack," Derek grumbled helpfully.

Oh.

_Oh_.

His backpack in which there was a gun with wolfsbane bullets. Right.

Stiles felt sheepish and a little dumb, which might have been why he obediently fished out his backpack from behind himself and handed it over, but only after having retrieved his color coded map. Derek didn't say anything, his face completely blank, and instead just turned to dispose of the backpack further away from where all the werewolves were.

Stiles had to remember to fetch it before he left.

Erica was suddenly right next to him, sliding closer with a wicked but friendly smile. Stiles hadn't even realized that she had been staying back, probably because of the wolfsbane. Only Scott was stupid enough to defy it.

And Derek, of course, but Derek was Derek.

Stiles gave her an apologetic smile but she just shrugged it off and leaned her head against his shoulder, awfully cuddly. Then again, Stiles had practically slept on top of her last night so they were well beyond the point where such trivial things as personal space mattered. Besides, it was pretty cozy.

"Well, isn't this lovely? Are you having a secret meeting? Can I join?"

Stiles wasn't the only one who twitched at Peter's sudden exclamation, even if the werewolves had to have been at least partly aware that he was there. Stiles head swiveled to look to his right, where Peter had just sauntered out of the shadows like a spooky stalker. Which he was so, yeah.

"No," Derek deadpanned with a surprising level of finality.

"Really, my darling nephew, that's not very kind of you. Let's all get along, hm?" Peter drawled as he moved closer, giving Lydia a not so subtle wink at the end.

Stiles bristled at seeing the painfully blank look on Lydia's face – probably hiding both panic and fear – but he wasn't aware that he was on his way to jump down from the crate and punch Peter in the face until Scott latched on to his arm and held him back. That was a surprise in itself because Scott if anyone was always quick to dive to people's defense and Stiles couldn't help giving him a confused and slightly betrayed look. But before either of them had time to say anything Derek spoke again.

"No." The alpha's voice was surprisingly calm but not gentle. "Leave."

"Come now, I don't mean any harm. I might in fact be useful."

"Not when you are more of a distraction than anything else," Derek replied and Stiles could see the small twitch between Derek's eyebrows that was a sure sign of an impending Scowl of Doom.

Lydia's shoulders were tense and raised defensively but Derek didn't look at her. He probably didn't need to in order to sense her fear. Stiles didn't know if Derek even knew about everything Peter had done to Lydia in order to force her to help resurrect him but perhaps that didn't matter. Lydia was pack now and she was very uncomfortable with Peter's presence. Peter just seemed to enjoy it.

"Really, you are being quite stubborn. I mean, I-"

"I said _leave_ ," Derek barked.

A sudden ripple went through the room.

Scott rose from the crate, Erica and Isaac straightened as one, all three of them turning towards Peter in perfect unison, instinctively facing what their alpha had just determined to be a threat.

As one pack.

An involuntary shiver – part delight, part fear – travelled down Stiles' spine but he couldn't deny the terrifying beauty of it. Derek didn't even have to say anything out loud – the betas just reacted. Fluently, deadly and with scary precision. It suddenly became very clear why a true pack was so much stronger than whatever excuse of one they had been before. _This_ was how a pack worked.

Peter took a step back in surprise and he wasn't late to raise his hands in a gesture that usually signaled no ill intentions. With Peter it was difficult to say though. His expression was a little tight even if he tried to play it all off with the same lightheartedness as always.

"Well. Even a psychopath can tell when he's not wanted," Peter said with a shrug, hands still raised, gaze locked with Derek's. "I'll take my leave."

Stiles realized that he was holding his breath only when his lungs began to ache.

All eyes were on Peter when the eldest werewolf slowly gave Derek a measured but not entirely impolite nod – it almost felt like recognition even – before slowly backing away, the same way he came. Stiles figured that there had to be some stealthy way to enter and leave the train depot from the tracks leading away into the darkness.

Just when Peter was about to disappear out of sight and most of the werewolves had relaxed again Stiles caught Peter's gaze. He didn't even mean to but when Peter gave him a secretive wink Stiles realized that it was _Peter_ who had sought it out. And the grin on Peter's lips made everything snap into place.

The bastard had done it on _purpose_. He had consciously challenged Derek to make the pack react – to test their response.

Stiles eyes widened in realization and Peter gave a quick salute before disappearing into the shadows. That creepy, sneaky, manipulating bastard. Stiles had to admit that he was impressed. Peter seemed beyond fearless and played everything so boldly and carelessly that no one ever expected it to be just that. A con. A game. No one understood that he was manipulating them until it was already over and they had given him what he wanted. It made Stiles incredibly uneasy.

Sure, this time it was actually in their favor, if the look on the pack's faces was anything to go by, but what would happen when Peter changed his mind? What would happen when Peter's loyalties changed and he had no use for Derek and their pack anymore? Stiles didn't even want to think about it and resolutely decided not to. Not yet at least. They had more important things to worry about and this little display of pack unity seemed to have actually strengthened their morale. Even Derek seemed to stand a little straighter.

The silence that followed was a little awkward since no one knew quite what to say but the moment was soon over when all the werewolves suddenly looked over towards the staircase instead. A second later Jackson and Boyd arrived, fashionably late. Both of them seemed to catch the lingering tension in the air and Jackson quietly and not so subtly went to stand with his arm looped around Lydia.

Stiles was suddenly infinitely glad that Jackson hadn't been there when Peter put on his little show. Jackson would have snapped and attacked him. But perhaps Peter had taken that in consideration as well and done it only because Jackson wasn't present. Stiles could feel a headache approaching.

"The hunters have set up the barriers," Derek stated suddenly, without any kind of introduction, once again proving that he was rather lacking in the social interaction department. But at least they were getting to the actual subject at hand.

The pack nodded to show that they understood and Stiles jumped down from his crate, waving his map.

"And since I'm the considerate, awesome genius that I am I took the time to note it all down for you."

He ended up standing next to Derek without really thinking about it, as if it was natural and where he was meant to be. Stiles folded out the map that was almost too big to hold comfortably without some kind of surface to place it on but he could make do. Derek was the first to lean closer and look over the map and Stiles tried not to stiffen at the sudden increase in proximity.

"It's color coded," the alpha stated in a flat monotone. It wasn't quite a question or an insult, just statement of facts. Stiles turned his head to look at Derek all the same, regretting it almost instantly because Derek was leaning a lot closer than planned. Stiles felt his heartbeat stutter.

"And?" Stiles was pretty certain that his voice sounded a little more high pitched than usual and not at all as indignant as he wanted. "I thought dogs were the color blind ones, not werewolves."

Derek gave him an unimpressed look but Stiles was a little too preoccupied staring into his eyes to really notice. The color really was quite fascinating.

"I like it," Scott piped up from Stiles' left, snapping Stiles back to the present and away from his inspection of the depth of Derek's eyes. Dear God.

Stiles chanced a look at the rest of the pack and while he got some odd glances and an encouraging smile from Scott it was Lydia and Danny's smug smiles that really got to him. And it was all it took for Stiles to start blushing. Dammit. He needed to stop being so obvious.

"Yes, well-" Stiles cleared his throat to get rid of the rather unmanly squeak to it while the rest of the pack gathered around the map he was holding, "-yellow is barriers, red is where the hunters will be stationed – probably on a rolling schedule since there are more spots than hunters – and the blue ones are cameras. Danny?"

Stiles hadn't been told much about the cameras yet.

"As said, I can't monitor them 24/7 but I have access so let me know if I should check something out," Danny replied without missing a beat, obviously understanding what Stiles was after. "I've shared what I can with Allison so they should be able to watch the feeds in my absence."

"Good," Derek replied, offering a sharp but still kind nod. Stiles tried to hide his surprise. It would have been natural for Stiles to be the one to offer praises but Derek usually didn't. Then again, all of them were changing, Derek most of all. The alpha suddenly seemed much more comfortable in his own skin – and what a nice skin it was.

Derek was calmer, surer, and Stiles knew that the pack felt it too. They followed their alpha more seamlessly now even if there were still moments of hesitation and harshness, but that was _Derek_ and not something Stiles actually wanted to change.

He kinda liked Derek the way he was.

Stiles bumped his shoulder against Derek's chest and tried to pretend that he wasn't fighting an urge to lean closer; to slump against Derek and just soak in the warmth of his body and the smell of his skin. Stiles was thrumming with awareness – every inch of him that was somehow touching Derek was tingling – but he was too much of a coward to ask for more. At least here, right now.

Derek didn't seem to have any such qualms however, since when he wanted to pull the map just a little closer to himself he did so by clasping his hand over Stiles', not around the actual map. Derek's fingers were warm and surprisingly gentle, the skin a little rough but still comfortable somehow.

And Stiles was just about ready to have a heart attack.

His heart was pounding in his chest and he would have squirmed if it wasn't for the fact that it would make it all too obvious. Scott still gave him a funny look and if Scott – who was used to Stiles' uneven heart rate and strange quirks – could tell that something was more off than usual, well, then all of them must have. Stiles continued to stare at the map, pretending not to notice.

He would have to have been blind not to catch the slight movement in the corner of his eyes though and when he dared a glance he almost dropped the map. Derek was _smiling_. The fucking bastard was _smiling_. A small, smug and almost teasing smile but it was a smile and Stiles _knew_ why it was there. Derek was enjoying this.

Stiles got the insane urge to just throw caution to the wind and kiss the damned jerk in the least subtle match of gay chicken ever undertaken, but Stiles curbed that impulse too. He'd probably just burn the bridge he was slowly but surely tiptoeing over. But at least this meant something; Derek's casual acceptance of the situation probably – hopefully – meant that he would be waiting on the other side of the bridge when Stiles finally managed to cross it. Too bad he wasn't quite there yet.

Stiles licked his lips and looked at the map again, tuning back in just in time to hear the tail end of Erica's question.

"- supposed to memorize this?"

"If you can, yeah," Stiles answered fluently, hiding his little lapse of focus rather admirably, if he did say so himself, "but it's not expected. I'll leave the map here so you can look at it when needed but try to remember as many of the barriers and hunter stations as possible."

"Why the hunter stations too?" Isaac asked. "Aren't those supposed to be safe, ever for us?"

"In theory," Derek replied, finally drawing back slightly. Stiles let out a silent breath. "But they haven't seen your faces yet and it's better if they don't. So stay away from them."

Stiles wanted to coo at Derek for being so protective over his little betas but knew that it would only earn him a cuff on the head or something similar. And while he treasured ever little touch Derek gave him Stiles wasn't going to start treasuring the violence with the same enthusiasm. That would just be awkward and pathetic. Not to mention masochistic.

"How is the search going?" It was Lydia who took it upon herself to carry the conversation forward.

"There's not a trace of them towards east," Scott replied, "and there's definitely not much left to search in either direction."

The pack backed up from the map a little now that it wasn't the centre of attention anymore and after a slight moment of hesitation – too long a moment really – Derek did the same, letting go of Stiles' hand. Stiles tried to play it cool and busied himself with folding the map up again.

"I think Boyd and I might actually be close," Jackson spoke up, confident and proud as always but he kept his eyes on Derek, as if to make sure that he wasn't crossing some line.

"Explain."

Stiles almost wanted to wince at Derek's clipped tone but they could probably forgive him. They wanted this to end as soon as possible. The closer they came to the full moon the closer they were to Stiles' demise. And Stiles really didn't want to think about that. He had done such a good job ignoring that so far.

"We didn't find any tracks but there was just something with the woods..." Jackson answered, a little haltingly, which had to be a first.

"It was too quiet," Boyd clarified. "We couldn't hear or see any wildlife."

"Perhaps they were just hiding from you," Erica suggested with a shrug.

"Or something drove them off long before Jackson and Boyd arrived." Derek had a point. "If the other pack has set up their hideout somewhere in that area it's likely that other animals will have learned not to venture close. Werewolves scare them."

"So should we turn all our efforts to where Jackson and Boyd are?" Scott asked, the hesitation clear in his voice.

It was understandable.

The full moon was close and they couldn't risk running off in the wrong direction, not even now when they had something to go on. If they were wrong they might very well miss their chance and that could prove fatal.

Derek was just about to reply when a shrill sound started echoing in the train depot. Everybody fell silent and one by one their eyes turned towards Stiles, who just stared back dumbly. It wasn't until Scott elbowed him in the side that Stiles realized that it was his phone. Since he hadn't had the time to set any ringtones yet he hadn't recognized it as someone calling him.

He swiftly pushed the map towards Derek – who took it seemingly out of reflex because he got it shoved at his chest – and fished out his phone from his pocket. Allison, the display told him. Stiles accepted the call without pause, feeling dread rise within him.

This couldn't be good.

"Yeah?"

Stiles barely had time to finish the last syllable before Allison bulldozed right over him.

"We're under attack."

Stiles stiffened, eyes wide – an expression mirrored on the werewolves' faces. Lydia and Danny couldn't quite pick up the other side of the conversation like those with superhuman hearing could but they had to be blind not to notice the shift in the air.

"Attack? Where? How?" Stiles blurted out, dodging out of the way when Derek tried to take the phone from him. Allison probably wouldn't take it all too well if she was suddenly forced to talk to the man who was partly responsible for her mother's death.

It was just before dinner and the barriers hadn't been up for long. Stiles hadn't thought that they would run into the other pack this shortly after having set up their safety measures.

"The pack stumbled over a group of hunters, probably when they tried to find some way to cross over the border into town." Allison's voice was clipped and sharp and Stiles could hear other sounds in the background – sounds he was pretty sure meant that Allison was gearing up to head out and help the other hunters. "They probably didn't know what was going on until they were right on top of the hunters, who called in for backup just seconds ago. We need all the hands we can get."

Stiles threw a glance around the room, noticing that Scott and Isaac were already on their way towards the stairs leading up from the train depot, Erica and Jackson not far behind.

"How many are there?" Stiles asked, voice a little hoarse. His hands were shaking but he tried to ignore it.

"All of them," Allison replied through gritted teeth. "My dad and I are heading out to help."

It was too sudden. They weren't ready for this.

"Okay, okay," Stiles muttered breathlessly before shouting to Scott and Isaac: "Oh for heaven's sake, stop! You don't even know where they are yet!"

The werewolves froze, looking a little sheepish. Sure, they could probably find the battle through their senses if necessary but they had Allison right there and she could tell them where to go.

Werewolves were such brainless morons sometimes.

"West side of town, near the gas station," Allison offered a moment later, clearly not having to be asked to relay the information. Time was of the essence and even if the shift from peaceful meeting to sudden threat was a bit too sharp for Stiles' taste the werewolves acted with confidence. Perhaps because they weren't frail humans.

Stiles felt sick.

This could be it. This was a full-on, all-out brawl and if the clash was big enough it might be what they needed to scare the other pack off. But the risk of them getting hurt – werewolves and hunters alike – was suffocating. Whatever the result of the attack would be people would get hurt. It was obvious that Stiles wasn't the only one who had realized this.

"Okay, we're on our way," Stiles assured her and didn't even feel insulted that she hung up on him without another word. She had better things to do, as did he.

"No, _we're_ not going anywhere." Derek's voice was cold and biting, Scott freezing on the top step, Isaac just behind him while Stiles just stared at the alpha.

Derek had to be kidding. They had to help.

"Wha-" Stiles began, fury mingling with his fear, but Derek cut him off, brutally and without hesitation.

" _You_ are staying here. All three of you." Derek eyed the humans with a sharpness that shouldn't have been very effective considering how they weren't even werewolves but it kind of was. Danny and Lydia sure weren't going to argue about it.

"But-"

"You have a price on your head, Stiles. Danny's got a broken arm. Lydia might be immune to becoming a werewolf but bites and scratches will still kill her. You. Stay. Here," Derek snarled, his eyes bleeding into red.

Derek was suddenly so close that Stiles could almost feel him vibrating from anger, obviously trying to intimidate Stiles into backing down. It was working. Stiles didn't know how to react because he wasn't trying to pick a fight, not really, he was just confused and a little afraid. It was his pack after all and he couldn't come with them. He didn't want them to get hurt but he couldn't follow and make sure that they were okay. It hurt.

"We don't have time for this!" Lydia hissed, ever the voice of reason, but when she moved to grab Stiles' arm Derek's glare turned towards her instead. She stopped short.

"You're staying," Derek ground out through clenched teeth and Stiles realized suddenly that this was a matter of hierarchy and chain of command. Stiles _had_ to back down on his own. This was a direct order from their alpha and even if Stiles was human Derek wouldn't tolerate disobedience; not this time.

Stiles averted his gaze and sucked in a deep breath, feeling the tension within him snap and crumble as soon as he wasn't staring directly into Derek's eyes.

"Yeah. Fine," Stiles breathed. "We're staying here."

It wasn't like he actually wanted to come anyway. Sure, he had the gun but had no idea if he would be able to stomach using it. The pack would have it easier if they didn't have humans to look after. Stiles got that – he even agreed with it. It just felt a bit insulting anyway.

"Get going!" Derek barked to the betas and a flurry of movement followed as they hurried to get up the rickety staircase. Derek pushed the map back into Stiles' hand and he had to scramble not to drop it. His chest felt tight.

Before Stiles had time to change his mind or really reflect on his actions his hand shot out and grabbed Derek's arm, just as the alpha was about to leave. Derek turned back, clearly ready to growl menacingly at Stiles for the interruption, but something on Stiles' face must have kept him from it. Derek just blinked and stared in silence.

Stiles swallowed and licked his lips. This could be the last he saw of his pack; this could be the night one of them didn't return but he had to let them go – all of them. His chest ached and it was a struggle to keep breathing.

"Be careful." It was barely even a whisper. Lydia and Danny probably didn't catch it, but Derek did. Stiles gaze flickered to where Boyd disappeared out of view at the top of the stairs. "Keep them safe."

Derek lingered a moment – just a brief yet agonizing moment – before he nodded and pried Stiles' hand off. He did give it a quick, desperately reassuring squeeze before he left though and Stiles tried to tell himself that everything would be fine. They would be fine.

The insistent, numbing ache in his chest said otherwise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay this week. I've been travelling all day - both by bus and plane - and have slept about four hours. So I'm a little out of it.
> 
> The shiteth hath hiteth the faneth anyway. The pace is going to be somewhat quicker in this part since there's so much that needs to happen both in terms of action and character development. So you'll have pretty awesome chapters to look forward to.
> 
> Also, Derek is so not even trying to be subtle anymore. Or he just doesn't realise how utterly transparent he is. I'm not sure which.  
> Stupid little alpha.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) betaed this as always!


	3. Fortify

 

* * *

 

"Come on, let's get out of here."

Stiles turned to look at Lydia with an incredulous frown.

"What? We just told the frankly furious alpha that we're staying here." Stiles waved in the general direction of the stairs where Derek had disappeared just two minutes ago. Stiles tried to pretend that he hadn't been staring at it ever since.

Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"And since when do you listen to what Derek says?"

"Uh... never," Stiles admitted but quickly shook his head. "But this is different! There are murderous werewolves out there!"

"Yes, I am well aware. My boyfriend is out there too, you know?" Lydia sniped and the barely noticeable tremor in her voice was all Stiles needed to realize that he was being a bit of a dick. She wasn't any more pleased with the situation than he was.

Then the other implication of her words caught up with him.

"Wait. What do you mean 'your boyfriend _too_ '?" Stiles spluttered.

Danny just rolled his eyes and talked right over Stiles, ignoring his minor freak out.

"What did you have in mind?"

"If we're going to wait for them to come back then I'd rather do it somewhere comfortable, wouldn't you? So let's get back to my house," she replied while tossing her hair over her shoulder, as if it was no big deal. It was pretty obvious that it was though. Lydia just didn't like showing her weaknesses.

"They know where you live, Lydia, and your house isn't exactly evil werewolf-proof," Stiles reminded her. To his surprise she didn't seem angered by his attitude.

She was smiling, in fact.

"Then let's make sure that it is," she replied with a coquettish little shrug.

Well. That actually wasn't such a bad idea.

It would take some time and Derek might be pissed but it would only serve as an advantage later. They needed someplace to hide and if they could avoid a repeat of the werewolf attack a couple of nights ago surely their alpha would let it slide. Eventually.

That was how the three of them found themselves at Deaton's animal clinic, which was actually a much safer place than the train depot when you thought about it. Deaton had taken precautions to make sure that werewolves couldn't enter so it was in fact better to go there than to stay where they weren't shielded at all. Or so Stiles told himself.

Deaton was pleased if a little wary to see them and took the news of the undergoing attack with frustrating calm, but Stiles could see that he was stiffer than usual. They had all known that it would come to this sooner or later and they had no idea if this would be the end or not. And while Deaton had always made sure to remain on the sidelines Stiles had a feeling that it was making the otherwise calm vet rather antsy this time.

Stiles didn't know where Ms. Morrell was but wasn't going to ask either.

Deaton lead them into the back room without a word and the three of them followed obediently.

"Hey Deaton, we need some things," Stiles greeted while pulling out his notepad from his backpack – a backpack he would have forgotten at the train depot if Danny hadn't reminded him about it. Stiles tore off a page and handed it over.

"Oh?" Deaton didn't sound surprised and accepted the list with a faint smile. He raised an eyebrow when his eyes began skimming over the paper though, before eyeing the three of them. "You need all of this?"

"Well, no..." Stiles hesitated, glancing towards the other two but they were unhelpfully silent, probably because they hadn't had as much experience with Deaton as Stiles. They had heard that the vet was some sort of werewolf Yoda but had never talked to him in person. "Just whatever of it you can give us. We want to avoid becoming targets again."

Deaton hummed in either understanding or approval – perhaps a bit of both – before walking over to a closed cabinet.

"The brimstone, basil and horehound I get – as well as the limestone and barberry – but why the dragon powder and mint?" Deaton asked as he opened the cabinet to peer onto the shelves full of small glass bottles and jars. Stiles tried to peek as subtly as possible – that is to say not subtly at all.

He floundered a little when Deaton gave him a questioning look over his shoulder. Stiles cleared his throat.

"Urr, just something I thought that I would try. You know, with the horehound and brimstone. None of the other spells are offensive and I thought that, you know... it could work." Stiles really had no idea how spells were constructed and who had decided what worked but he was willing to think outside of the box if it would help them. Mixing certain parts of different spells to get new results sounded doable. In theory.

Deaton blinked and tilted his head to the side.

"Huh. That might actually work." The vet smiled before starting to pull bottles off the shelves, placing them on the steel slab. "Let me know how it turns out."

"Uh... sure." Stiles shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed for some reason.

To his surprise Lydia bumped softly against his side, her presence offering some comfort. He gave her a confused look but she just smiled and patted his arm. He chose to take it as Lydia giving him her blessing. She had read through his notes after all and she would have let him know if she thought that he was doing something stupid.

"That should be the last one," Deaton said once the last bottle was placed on the examination table, "but I want you to take this as well."

The vet placed a rather large jar next to the small glass bottles and Stiles couldn't help his curiosity and reached for it without thinking. When Deaton didn't stop him Stiles went ahead and pried it open, the smell rising from the salve inside pungent but almost sickeningly sweet at the same time.

"What is it?" Lydia asked, recoiling backwards with a wrinkled nose.

"A wound left by an alpha is tougher to heal, especially for betas. This will help their healing rate, which can be vital if the injury was caused by the alpha." Deaton gestured towards the jar and Stiles closed the lid.

"And Derek?" It was a valid question and Stiles refused to acknowledge the amused quirk of Lydia's lips. He didn't ask because it was _Derek_ but because it was good to know whether it would be tougher for Derek to heal too, when he was an alpha himself.

"It will help him as well but prioritize the betas," Deaton replied without any kind of indication that he had noticed Lydia's meaningful looks. Stiles almost wanted to kiss the man; finally someone who didn't care about Stiles' relationship with their grouchy alpha.

"Thanks." Stiles made sure that his gratefulness was obvious and Deaton replied with a small nod.

"Now, will you be returning the dog whistles once this is over or do you intend to keep them?" Deaton's question was light – asked almost as if in a passing – but Stiles choked none the less. The vet gave an amused little huff. "Did you honestly think that I wouldn't notice?"

"No! I-" Stiles cleared his throat and put the jar with healing salve back onto the steel slab. "I'm just... surprised that you mentioned it."

"We've divided them between us," Lydia informed Deaton, pulling her whistle out from the neck of her top. "If we need to warn and signal the pack in case of an emergency."

It seemed to be all the explanation Deaton needed.

"Ah. Then go ahead and keep them." The vet smiled at Stiles. "Good plan."

Stiles was definitely blushing at the praise but pretended that he wasn't, waving his hand casually as if it was no big deal at all. Danny rolled his eyes.

"Now you better hurry. The sooner you can get this set up the better." Deaton went to close the cabinet while Stiles carefully started loading the bottles with various powders and herbs into his backpack.

"You don't think that it will be over tonight?" Lydia asked, bold like always.

Deaton hesitated before taking a deep breath and shaking his head.

"I'm afraid that it won't be. This alpha seems far too experienced to let her entire pack get taken down during what essentially was a mistake. She'll pull back when she realizes that she can't fight them all." Deaton leveled them with a sharp gaze. "So stay safe, all of you. I'll be here if you need it but there's only so much I can do. These next couple of days will be tough for all of us."

Stiles swallowed and nodded. The full moon was in two days. He just hoped that they would be ready. That _he_ would be ready, for whatever awaited him.

He tried his best not to think too closely about it.

 

 

They returned from Deaton and set to work on werewolf-proofing Lydia's house with the same kind efficiency they had done research. Stiles piled up all the ingredients they would need on the counter while Danny dug around the kitchen for utensils and other necessities. Lydia swept through the house making sure that everything was ready for the spells before making a quick detour to prepare what they needed in order to give some first aid.

They had no idea how things were going for the hunters and their pack but wounds were expected – probably a lot of them – and it was best to be ready for it. Stiles still tried not to let his imagination and worry run wild.

If the situation hadn't been so nerve wrecking Stiles would have found immense pleasure in the art of spell making. They were actually doing it. They were doing magic and they were awesome. But the thought of the rest of the pack being out there, possibly getting torn to shreds by the rivaling pack put a damper on his enthusiasm.

He still performed all the tasks and did all the measurements with the required precision while Lydia carved the symbols into the doorposts. She had been very firm on that, saying that if anyone was going to be vandalizing her house it was going to be her.

Stiles question about the whereabouts of Lydia's mom and what she might think was met with a brief shrug and a simple 'in Vegas with friends, probably won't even notice'. Stiles left it at that, afraid that she would snap at him for prying if he kept asking.

The spell for protecting the house was surprisingly easy but they couldn't be sure that it worked until an actual werewolf showed up. Luckily enough they could test it on their own pack since even they would have to be invited before they would be able to cross the threshold.

There was a very old-school vampire feel over it, Stiles mused while he sprinkled the brimstone, basil and horehound mixture at the corners of the house. There had been a slight argument as to whether it was to be done inside or outside the house but Lydia had eventually won simply by claiming that she wouldn't let anyone dump piles of herbs in her living room. So outside it was.

When Stiles returned from his ventures out on the lawn Danny and Lydia were in the middle of making what Stiles had understood to be a werewolf odor neutralizer. Since their own pack could find them through the dog whistles if necessary they had made the decision that hiding their scent from those keen noses – enemy and allies alike – was a risk they were willing to take; just in case someone tried to track them down again.

The limestone and barberry created a fine powder that Lydia carefully poured into four of the glass bottles they had emptied and cleaned. She handed them one each with careful instructions to use it only if necessary and that rain or a shower was likely to wash it off. Stiles had figured as much and couldn't help peering into his little bottle, sneezing when the powder caused his nose to tickle.

Magic was weird.

Stiles didn't even have to ask to know that the fourth bottle was for Allison.

Once that was handled Stiles made a quick call to his dad just to make sure that he was okay but things were apparently fine at the hospital. Stiles' dad didn't take to the news of what was going on all that well but when Stiles told him that they'd werewolf-proofed Lydia's house – and would do the same to Danny's and theirs when the opportunity arose – he seemed a lot calmer.

According to Melissa there had been no new admissions to the hospital which meant that the werewolves and hunters were either still out there or no one had gotten hurt enough to be sent there yet. It didn't apply to the werewolves of course but the hunters or possible unlucky bystanders would have nowhere else to go.

Stiles wasn't sure if it was a comfort or not. Almost two hours had passed by then but they knew better than to try and contact their pack. If they were still out there fighting they didn't need their phones to give away their positions.

Waiting was excruciating. Not even talking to his dad helped and Stiles hung up long before he usually would have, simply because he didn't have the peace of mind to just chat. He was insanely worried. While he knew that everyone would do their best he hadn't forgotten that the other pack was superior in almost every way.

To occupy himself Stiles sat about with his little experiment, not complaining when Lydia and Danny stayed close but with projects of their own. Danny had gone back to reading, sitting perched on one of the counters and Lydia was preparing something for them to eat.

Stiles absently realized that they had missed dinner. And this day's second dose of Adderall. He shrugged it off and ate only because Lydia practically shoved it down his throat.

Stiles was in the middle of kneading the doughy little herb balls his experimentation had yielded – not quite what he had expected but if it worked the way he imagined the shape of them didn't really matter – when there was a bang on the front door. Stiles jumped in fright and Lydia was rushing towards the door before he had managed to gather himself. He quickly dropped what he was doing and took care to wash his hands before hurrying after Lydia and Danny towards the front door.

The sight that met him made him choke on a pained little sound.

Isaac was supported between Boyd and Jackson, his entire body limp and unresponsive. Boyd had a set of nasty claw marks, starting high up on his temple and spanning down to the corner of his mouth, and while the bleeding seemed to have stopped already they must sting something terrible. Jackson was bloody and ruffled – Stiles could detect a rip in his sweater that could only mean some serious damage – but swayed less than Erica, who could barely remain on her feet where she stood behind the trio.

Lydia had frozen in front of the open doorway, probably so frightened by the sight that met her that she could only stare at the werewolves in utter horror. Stiles couldn't blame her. All of them snapped back to the present when Jackson raised a hand and slapped it against what for all intents and purposes seemed to be an invisible wall between them.

The spell had worked. The werewolves couldn't enter through the doorway.

"What the heck is this?" Jackson snarled none too gently and Lydia swiftly gathered her cool.

"Jackson, Boyd, Isaac and Erica, please come in," she hastened to say and Stiles managed to catch the confused look on Jackson's face before his hand slipped through the barrier. Stiles was pretty certain that Jackson would have tipped forward and faceplanted on the floor if he hadn't been for his grip on the unconscious Isaac. At least they could enter now.

That was everything Boyd needed before he mutely dragged Isaac through the open door, Jackson following almost by accident. A moment of chaos followed. Lydia moved to support Jackson, Danny – unable to do something similar for Isaac or Boyd considering his broken arm – directed the betas towards the living room while Stiles dove to catch Erica before she collapsed.

It was only when he had managed to pull her over the threshold and he glanced over his shoulder out onto the porch that his mind finally clicked and an ice cold lump of dread settled in his gut.

"Scott? Derek?" he croaked helplessly, trying to support Erica without gripping her apparently broken ribs. A trail of blood had trickled from her temple but the wound itself seemed to have closed already.

"They-" Erica gasped, followed by a heartbreaking whine when she tried her best to breathe through the pain. Stiles felt so guilty for pressuring her but if he didn't get an answer he was the one who wouldn't be able to breathe. "... stayed. With hunters."

"But they're okay?" he blurted while guiding her towards the living room, as gently as he possibly could.

"I don't-" a sharp, shallow breath "-don't know." Erica's brown eyes were wide with fear and Stiles clamped down on his own. It felt as if his chest was about to tear itself open but he didn't have time to panic. Not now.

"Okay, it's okay."

It wasn't.

"Stiles! We need Deaton's salve!" Lydia shouted just as Stiles and Erica rounded the last corner and entered the living room.

Stiles quickly handed Erica over to Boyd – who looked admirably stable considering what all of them must have been through – before darting towards the kitchen to fetch the jar they had left with all the other supplies. He couldn't even feel the ache in his ankle anymore.

He hadn't asked why they needed the salve but he had a feeling that it was for Isaac. Because he was absolutely certain that Isaac was still alive and needed to be bandaged. He refused to believe anything else. Isaac was not dead and he wasn't dying either. Period.

Stiles stumbled back into the living room in record time and had to bite back the acrid sting of bile at the sight of Lydia standing on her knees next to one of the couches, Isaac sprawled on top of it, clearly still unconscious. Lydia was pressing a towel to Isaac's side, the white already stained red with blood. More towels, water and bandages were scattered over the table that had been moved out of the way and Danny seemed in charge of getting one of them wet enough to clean Isaac's wounds. He handled it gracefully considering that he only had one fully functioning arm at his disposal.

Stiles allowed himself only a moment of hesitation before he gritted his teeth and pushed all his fear and every little ounce of panic to the sidelines. Now was high time to start some emergency compartmentalizing.

"Did anyone get shot?" Stiles asked with some quick glances towards the other betas. The hunters were on their side but stray bullets could find unintentional targets, especially in the dark where it was difficult to see. They didn't need to add wolfsbane poisoning to their list of problems right now.

Erica and Boyd both shook their heads while Stiles knelt next to Lydia, gesturing for her to go and get the wet towel from Danny while he took over the task of stopping the blood flow. She had tried to hide it but Stiles had noticed that her arms had started to tremble with the effort. The towel was damp under his hands and Stiles tried to ignore the sickening roll of his stomach. He didn't like blood. Not the sight nor smell of it. Only the urgency of the situation made him able to ignore it.

"I'm good, Isaac too. I saw him go down," Jackson offered while he without a word started getting Isaac's shirt out of the way. Stiles was surprised by the initiative because Jackson had never been a team player but perhaps even he had learned a thing or two about being pack by then. Jackson's face was pale and eyes haunted but the clench of his jaw remained firm and determined, perhaps because he felt a responsibility to be in charge when Derek and Scott wasn't present.

"Was it the alpha?"

Jackson swallowed and nodded to answer Stiles' question and Stiles bit his cheek to keep himself from cursing.

"Derek and one of the hunters managed to get her off but she had already-" Jackson fell silent and pressed his lips together. Stiles didn't ask him to elaborate.

"Danny, help Boyd and Erica with their injuries. Jackson, Lydia and I will take care of Isaac," Stiles ordered without looking up, knowing that while both Erica and Boyd were in pain they were in a much more stable condition so they could help each other where Danny couldn't.

People moved to follow Stiles instruction without as much as a grumble. None of them felt like talking and risk breaking the oppressive, worried silence. Right now the silence was the only thing that kept them from panicking. They weren't prepared for this.

Isaac was blissfully unconscious while Stiles, Lydia and Jackson worked. It showed that Jackson clearly needed some care of his own with how stiff and jerky some of his movements were but no one argued against prioritizing Isaac.

Stiles shut out everything but the motor functions required to clean and take care of Isaac. He didn't even register exactly how large the gash in Isaac's side was, just that it required lots of Deaton's salve when they had finally been able to stop the bleeding and that bandaging it took a lot more effort than either of them had really expected.

Stiles arms were shaking before it was over and once it finally was he couldn't keep himself from placing a hand on the middle of Isaac's chest, just to feel the comforting rise and sink as he breathed. Isaac was breathing. He was going to be okay.

Stiles wanted to sob in relief but settled for a trembling exhale and a weak smile.

Lydia managed to find enough energy to move over to help Jackson while Erica and Boyd where already dosing on the other couch, their eyelids dropping as they lay curled protectively around each other. The gash on Boyd's face had started to heal and Stiles sent a silent thank you to werewolf healing and its ability to ensure complete scar-free tissue. It would have been a tricky scar to explain to people.

Stiles stayed with Isaac, back cushioned against the couch as he sat on the floor in front of it, only half listening to Lydia and Danny fussing over Jackson. They had actually managed. Crisis averted.

Stiles wasn't entirely sure how it had happened but they were safe for now – or so he hoped. Scott and Derek still hadn't showed and Stiles pretended that his heart didn't clench painfully at the thought. They were fine. They had to be. It was obvious that the other werewolves were still out there – neither of them seemed to have won – but no one had died. It was a small consolation.

Stiles was exhausted. He wasn't sure if he would be able to move an inch even if he wanted to – which he didn't. He felt numb and lethargic but he was at least free from panic attacks. That was quite a surprise but not an unwelcome one.

He could hear Isaac's soft breathing not far from his ear and had Erica and Boyd in clear view on the other couch, the two betas having crashed completely from the fight and the effort it took to start healing. Stiles smiled softly. If it hadn't been for the lingering bloodstains on their clothes – their skin had been cleaned with Danny's help – the picture the two slumbering betas presented would have been pretty adorable.

With a heavy sigh Stiles sunk lower on the floor, slumping against the couch cushion, feeling the brush of Isaac's still limp arm against the top of his head. The stench of blood was heavy in the room and any words spoken were done so almost in a hush, perhaps to avoid disturbing the sleeping werewolves or just because of the 'what if's that were still too clear in everyone's mind. What could have happened was too terrifying to even consider and neither of them wanted to speak too loudly and break the spell.

Stiles wasn't sure how many minutes passed but Lydia was putting the finishing touches on Jackson's bandage when he, as the only conscious werewolf, stiffened and turned to stare in the direction of the front door. Or at least where it would have been had Jackson been able to look through walls. Now that he wasn't it was obvious what the look on concentration meant – he heard someone at the door.

Stiles stumbled to his feet without a word, nearly tripping over a discarded towel as he bolted towards the front door. He wasn't even sure where he got the strength from but he skidded into the hallway so fast he almost slammed into the wall.

"Oh thank God," he mumbled and almost collapsed right there, without even reaching the door.

It stood wide open, Allison hovering just inside with a puzzled look on her face while Scott and Derek were stuck outside. She could enter but they couldn't.

Stiles let out a barking laugh that really sounded more like a sob before rubbing a hand over his face.

"You assholes. Do you have any idea how worried we've been?" he asked as he shuffled towards the door, glancing to see Lydia, Jackson and Danny join him from the living room. "What took you so long?"

Stiles did a quick assessment of all three of them. Allison looked tired but completely unharmed, Scott had remnants of bruises and slashes, his clothes stained and torn and Derek looked, well, like Derek. His black t-shirt made it difficult to spot any bloodstains but there were rips and one or two smears of crimson on his forearms. They had all been through hell but none of them seemed to be dying.

Stiles wanted to whimper in relief. Or punch them. Preferably both.

Most of all he wanted to hug them – all of them – but didn't know how it would be received. So he just stayed back instead, a relieved smile making its appearance.

"We tried to track the fleeing werewolves as far as we could," Scott replied, looking apologetic but determined, "Then helped the hunters with-... uh..." Scott fell silent.

Stiles felt himself grow cold and the smile fell from his face.

"With what?"

Allison blinked a couple of times and cleared her throat.

"The bodies."

Stiles just stared at her in incomprehension.

"Bodies? What bodies?" His own voice sounded strange somehow. Muted. Someone had died.

Perhaps it was the werewolves? But that didn't explain the look on Allison's face. No, someone else had died. One of the hunters. One of their allies. Stiles got the oddest sensation of tilting without actually moving an inch. His entire world just felt crooked all of a sudden.

"Let's take this inside," Lydia's clipped voice suddenly broke through the slight haze in Stiles' mind, her small hand on his arm helping somewhat. "Scott, Derek, please join us."

After some slight hesitation Scott took a step over the threshold, looking cautious and suspicious, which clearly showed that he had tried to enter at some point and been unable to. There was nothing stopping him now however and Derek followed smoothly, closing the door behind them with efficient yet stiff movements. Stiles realized that Derek had to be hurt too.

A part of him wanted to walk up to the alpha and make sure. He wanted to touch and feel and really make sure that Derek was there and alive but he didn't dare to. He didn't have that kind of right. So instead he just stared.

"Who died?" Lydia asked, her hand squeezing Stiles' arm. No one really made a move to go elsewhere so perhaps it was just as well to handle it here, in the middle of the hallway. It was best to leave the betas in the living room undisturbed if possible.

"Gary and Felicia." Allison's voice wasn't any louder than usual but it felt like a punch to the gut none the less.

Stiles couldn't breathe. He had no idea who Felicia was but he knew Gary. He had talked to Gary.

Heck, he had almost begun to _like_ Gary. And now he was dead? It felt surreal.

As childish as it was Stiles couldn't help thinking that he had spoken to the man just a day ago. How could he be dead? That made no sense. Gary had been an experienced hunter. He shouldn't be allowed to die.

Stiles _knew_ Gary.

"How did Gary die?" It took Stiles a moment to realize that he was the one who had asked.

Derek caught his eye and the alpha looked vaguely alarmed for some reason.

Was Stiles swaying? It felt like he might be swaying.

"He got in between Isaac and the alpha, helped me get her off him. I thought that she would go for me next but-" Derek faltered, something that Stiles might have reflected on if he was more present, but right now he was just trying to force back the steadily building pressure in his chest.

Gary had died helping Isaac. Gary – the snarky, rude hunter who seemed to despise werewolves – had died saving one. Why did Stiles care? It made no sense.

None of it made sense.

A sharp twinge in his arm made Stiles gasp and before he knew it the world was spinning on its axis. Everything just came pouring out. The anxiety, the worry, the panic, the relief, the anger, the _grief_. He sucked in a breath and felt himself list to the side.

Was he about to faint?

Great.

He didn't want to faint. He felt something grab him and distantly recognized them as hands, holding him up, supporting him. Hands were good.

Someone shouted something – perhaps to him, he didn't know – and then there was movement and more shouts until all just went blessedly silent. His legs gave out but he didn't fall; instead he was eased down until he was sitting. That was good too.

"Stiles?" That was definitely someone talking to him. "Stiles, listen to me. Breathe. You've got to breathe. I have no idea what I'm doing but you've got to breathe for me. Okay?"

He knew that voice. It sounded a little odd but he knew it.

_Derek_.

"Breathe, Stiles."

Panic, maybe? Was that what made the voice sound so wrong? Stiles didn't like that. He should do something about it.

"Breathe," the voice urged again. Pleaded almost.

"Okay," Stiles mumbled numbly and nodded, eyes closed. When had he closed his eyes?

It sounded like a simple enough request. So Stiles breathed. In an out. In and out. A hand lay against his neck, soft and gentle. That was better than just good – it was heavenly.

"That's it. Breathe."

Stiles kept on breathing. The hand stayed on his neck, fingers brushing over his skin, ever so softly. It felt nice. He wasn't sure what was going on anymore but that hand felt nice.

"Derek?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Just breathe, Stiles."

Oh. That was good. Derek was there. Stiles liked that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... do you guys even remember who Gary is? That's like my main concern right now. I have no idea if he made a big enough impression for you to remember him and if he didn't him dying must seem a bit uneventful. My beta, [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) hated me for killing him though xD  
>  At least she and I will miss him.
> 
> RIP Gary - snarky hunter extraordinaire.
> 
> You guys are going to LOVE the next chapter, by the way. Or, like my beta, angrily proclaim how much you hate me. It's been weeks since she read it an I'm pretty certain she still hasn't forgiven me. It's going to be beautiful either way ;)


	4. Mend

 

* * *

 

When Stiles finally came to he would have been horrified if he wasn't also so wiped out that he could barely see straight. He had had a complete breakdown in front of Derek. Great. That was surely a good way of showing what a catch he was.

Stiles was so doomed.

Not that Derek seemed to notice that he was supposed to be appalled by Stiles' utter failure, sitting there on his knees in front of Stiles in one of the bathrooms in Lydia's house, looking all earnest and concerned. Then again, Derek was a social imbecile. That might be why he didn't catch on to how these things usually worked. It was rather endearing though.

Stiles had to admit that he was surprised by how genuinely _worried_ Derek looked. Usually the alpha would try to at least push his emotions down until they were barely noticeable, hinted only between the cranky frown and clenched jaw. Now he looked a little frantic actually, eyes wider than usual, one hand on Stiles' neck and the other on his knee.

"Are you calm now?"

Coming from anyone else that could have been an insult but since this was Derek – although Stiles wasn't entirely convinced that it was, considering how close he sat and all the emotions on his face which made it just as likely that it was some kind of pod person – it was probably just a question.

Derek didn't handle social situations very well and _no one_ took a panic attack lightly. He had to be terrified.

Stiles took a slow, measured breath before nodding. He was feeling better. His entire body was numb and his ears were ringing but he was conscious and aware of his surroundings. Which was why he now realized that he was sitting on the closed toilet lid and that the door was apparently locked. Stiles couldn't quite figure out why but would ask Derek as soon as he found his voice. That might take a while though.

"Scott is pissed. He wanted to help but needed to get his wounds checked out. I locked him out."

Oh. That explained the locked door. Not that it would keep Scott out if he _really_ wanted to come in but it was a rather clear sign for him to stay put.

And was Stiles and Derek communicating telepathically now? How on earth could Derek know Stiles wanted to ask about that?

Derek's hand slipped a little lower, until his thumb brushed against the hollow of Stiles' throat.

Wow. That was distracting.

Stiles swallowed drily, trying not to fidget. Was Derek checking his pulse with his other fingertips? It sort of felt like it but it should have been enough for Derek to just hear the beat of Stiles' heart. Or perhaps he just wanted to make doubly sure. To be supersure that Stiles was still alive. A small smile was all he could offer as comfort and to his immense surprise Derek smiled back; tight and a little fleeting but he did smile.

"Scott will be fine. Allison and Lydia are helping him," Derek said out of the blue. Stiles wasn't sure if he was trying to assure Stiles or just fill the silence. Stiles was grateful either way. It was actually pretty adorable that Derek kept talking without Stiles having to answer.

"I didn't have time to check on Isaac, Erica and Boyd. But they're fine, right?" It was so odd to hear Derek's voice so soft, like he was almost whispering. He wouldn't let go of Stiles' gaze either, as if it would mean losing Stiles' attention and awareness. There might have been some truth to that and Stiles wasn't going to complain either way. He liked staring at Derek.

He did make himself nod though, knowing that he should probably give some sort of indication that he was listening and that the betas were indeed okay.

"The house smells horrible, by the way," Derek offered with a small twitch of his nose that was utterly and completely adorable. Stiles couldn't help chuckling and was relieved to hear that he didn't choke on it.

"'s the herbs..." Stiles mumbled. "Werewolf-proofing."

Stiles hadn't noticed that Derek's shoulders were tense until they finally relaxed again. Without even thinking Stiles raised a hand to brush over the black fabric of Derek's t-shirt, following the slope of his shoulder and stopping just shy of his neck. Derek didn't as much as twitch.

"Did you werewolf-proof yourself as well? You don't smell much of anything." Derek's voice was light, apparently trying to keep the situation from going in bad directions, but the slight crease between his eyebrows showed that he was actually a bit concerned about it. He apparently didn't like it when Stiles didn't smell. Which was a very strange thing to say in any kind of situation but that was Stiles' life now.

Werewolves were weird.

It took a second or two for Stiles to realize that this had to mean that the scent neutralizer worked as well, even if he wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten it on himself. Perhaps it was when they prepared it or when he sneezed into his little bottle of the stuff. Either way it was working. Sweet.

"Not permanent," Stiles replied with a lopsided smile. "Goes away when I shower."

His voice was a little cracked and rough but its strength grew the more he talked. Derek seemed pleased by this. Or perhaps by Stiles' answer. Derek seemed pleased either way and that was a good thing.

Stiles cleared his throat.

"What happened out there?" He wanted to know and right now Stiles was more keen on listening than talking himself. He had things to tell too but they could wait, at least for a couple of minutes.

Derek didn't even hesitate before he started explaining. Stiles let it all wash over him, his panic attack having left him numb and calmer in a sense. He didn't feel as upset when Derek – in very short words since this was Derek after all – explained how the battle had gone.

The other werewolves had tried to flee as soon as reinforcements arrived, causing them to split up into smaller groups. Their betas had still kept as much out of sight as possible but it had been inevitable for at least some of the hunters to glimpse them eventually. Like Gary had seen Isaac.

A lot of the time had been spent trying to catch up with the fleeing wolves and the battle itself had been rather short. One of the rivaling werewolves had been confirmed dead, a second managed to escape but her injuries might kill her unless she got help from her pack. The alpha still lived. Two hunters had died. Derek and Scott had stayed behind to aid the hunters while they had sent the other betas back.

Stiles frowned softly at that.

"How did they know to come here?" he asked, surprised to hear how steady his own voice was. "You all left us at the train depot."

Derek shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. Perhaps they went there first, then here, or they followed your scents. All I know is that Jackson texted and told us that you've gathered here."

Oh. Good that someone had the foresight to let them know where to find them. That should have been Stiles' job. But he didn't feel too bad about it. Not considering that Derek's thumb was brushing against his collarbone and really, was Stiles supposed to remain unaffected by that? Because he wasn't entirely certain if he could, panic attack and crisis be damned. He had a lot of hormones.

To his infinite disappointment the thought had barely crossed his mind before Derek lowered his hand and gave Stiles a searching look.

"What about... Gary?" The phrasing was a little odd but Stiles assumed that Derek wanted to know why Stiles had reacted so violently to Gary's death.

Stiles was pretty certain that it wasn't as much about Gary as the situation itself – more like the small grain that tipped the scale than actual grief over this person he barely knew. Stiles had been working on adrenaline and fear up until that point and to hear that people had actually died – not only faceless ones he didn't know – had struck him a little harder than he thought possible.

He sighed and rubbed one of his eyes, his other hand still lingering on Derek's shoulder for some reason. But it felt nice to have it there to he wasn't in any hurry to remove it.

"I just... it's always been faceless people before. I didn't even know Allison's mom that well, apart from having her as a substitute teacher at school and seeing her when I stopped by their house to find Allison. Gary on the other hand, well, he was an ass." Stiles smiled weakly while Derek just kept looking at him, on his knees in front of Stiles and boy, Stiles should really stay away from that thought considering the seriousness of the situation. "But he was still kind of nice. He gave me advice, actually. I never told anyone about that..."

Stiles trailed off, staring off into space for a beat or two.

"What did he say?" Derek prompted, surprising Stiles with his interest. Stiles chuckled.

"That we should unite as one pack. We had already done it by the time he suggested it but still... He actually thought that it would be best for us." Stiles released a slow breath. "He didn't seem to like werewolves very much but even he could tell that we're just teenagers trying to survive, I guess."

Stiles was definitely not going to mention all that other stuff about Stiles and Derek and _obedience training_ because that was personal and very, very embarrassing. But perhaps not as farfetched as Stiles had once believed. Derek _did_ seem to have a thing for him.

A silence followed, probably because Derek's social ineptitude made itself known again but Stiles didn't really mind it. What was there to say? Derek offering condolences would just have been weird because Stiles didn't really know Gary all that well and it wasn't like Derek to do that.

Eventually Derek seemed to go for a completely different subject and it was amazing that he was still this eager to talk to Stiles. Derek's hand was warm against Stiles' knee and he hadn't made a single move to pull away.

"Chris Argent promised to stop by the hospital and talk to your dad."

Stiles blinked in surprise and urged Derek to continue with a circular movement with his hand. Derek rolled his eyes but he looked fond rather than exasperated when he did it.

"He needs to know what happened and it's better that Argent does it. You weren't even there."

Not to mention that Stiles didn't want to bring those kinds of news to his father if he could help it. Mr. Argent could also offer protection if necessary. Not to mention that it was high time that the two men had words concerning how things had turned out in Beacon Hills.

"Good. That's nice," Stiles replied, his fingers fiddling with the collar of Derek's t-shirt. "The puppies will be fine, by the way. It was a close call for Isaac there for a while but with the help of Deaton's super salve and mine and Lydia's brilliance we're pretty certain that he'll pull through. He'll need to rest for hours though. The gash was nasty."

It felt easier to talk about it now when he knew that Isaac would be fine. It still made his stomach roll to think of all that blood but it was manageable. Derek quirked an eyebrow.

"You really shouldn't call them puppies."

Stiles grinned.

"Isn't that what they are?"

Derek rolled his eyes but really, Stiles saw the amused twitch of his lips. Derek wanted to smile.

And God, that warm feeling rising in Stiles' chest was really difficult to ignore. It almost made him a little breathless even. It was amazing that someone as harsh and brutal as Derek could be this cute. Stiles just wanted to cuddle him. But that was probably a bad idea. Touching Derek was always a gamble.

As if on a cue Stiles' hand wandered down a little on Derek's back, not very far at all, but it resulted in a sharp twitch none the less. Stiles snatched his hand back as if burnt, dread lodging itself in his throat. For a second or two he had time to fear that he had crossed some sort of line – until he saw the blood staining his fingers. Stiles blinked at them in incomprehension for a moment while Derek leaned back with a slight hiss.

"You're hurt," Stiles stated dumbly.

"It will heal," Derek retorted, a little defensively almost, as if it was unacceptable that he was still in the shape that he was. He must have had the wounds for close to an hour now, perhaps even more.

Stiles mind slowly chugged through the motions and allowed him to reach a conclusion.

"It was the alpha, wasn't it?" That was one of the few reasons he could think of why Derek – the most resilient person Stiles knew – hadn't healed yet. He gave the alpha's shoulder a reprimanding slap. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

Derek gave him that unimpressed look where he pressed his lips together and raised one of his eyebrows, as if to say that Stiles was being stupid and very annoying. Stiles hadn't even known that he missed the expression until he saw it again. God. He was in so deep with this stupid man.

"I had other things to worry about."

Like Stiles.

Oh yes.

Stiles was in so fucking deep he couldn't even see the surface anymore. He barely managed to hold back a giddy smile. Or a kiss. He wanted to kiss Derek so bad.

But even Stiles knew this wasn't the time. Derek was in pain.

"Okay, get up." Stiles pushed a little on Derek's ridiculously broad shoulders, trying to make the alpha stand. Derek didn't budge an inch and just gave Stiles a puzzled look. Stiles sighed. "Get up so I can help you with your wounds. They're on your back, right?"

"They'll heal on their own, Stiles."

"Yeah, I know, but just humor me, okay?" Stiles just didn't want to move out of Derek's immediate space just yet and the conversation would slow to a halt eventually. Then it would become awkward to linger. Stiles didn't want that.

Derek looked close to rolling his eyes again before he did indeed rise, smoothly and fluently as if he hadn't spent a good twenty minutes kneeling on a tiled floor. Stiles hated him a little for that. But only a little. Most of all he wanted to press closer and just hum in contentment.

But that was another thing entirely and definitely not appropriate.

"You stay here while I get supplies," Stiles practically ordered and was rewarded with an incredulous look that he waved off without effort.

He slipped out of the bathroom before Derek had time to protest and headed for the living room where he knew he would find some bandages and the salve. Since all the betas had been seen to it was probably safe to give some to Derek too. Stiles was well aware that Derek had a point – he would heal given some time – but that didn't mean that Stiles felt that it was fair to leave their alpha in pain. Stiles could help and therefore would, simple as that.

Stiles really should have expected Scott to jump him the moment he stepped inside the living room but as things were Stiles had been so focused on the task at hand and completely missed Scott until he had already latched on to Stiles' arms.

"Stiles! Are you okay?"

Stiles blinked and nodded, a little dumbfounded.

"Uh... yeah. I'm better now." Stiles found that his smile was strangely effortless. "I just needed a moment to breathe."

Scott smiled back, clearly relieved.

"I'm really glad you're okay, man," Stiles mumbled, not wanting Scott to ever doubt that. He had been worried about Derek and Scott both.

Scott grinned and patted Stiles' shoulder.

"I'm okay. Allison and Lydia helped patch me up."

Stiles knew that already but nodded either way, glancing towards the two girls who were sitting on the low coffee table whispering about something. Stiles wasn't even going to bother listening in. Isaac was still out, Erica as well but Boyd opened one eye and gave Stiles a bleary little glance before he closed it again. Jackson sat leaning against the wall looking tired and worn out, Danny silently reading next to him. Things were calm for now.

"How's Derek?"

Scott got some extra points for asking and Stiles cleared his throat a little.

"Unfazed as ever." That might have been a lie but one Derek probably would appreciate. "I was just about to bandage him up a little, more for comfort than anything else."

"Oh. Do you want help?" Scott looked honest and kind as always but Stiles felt an instant dislike towards his suggestion. It took him a while to realize that it was _territorial_. He didn't want Scott to help with Derek – Stiles wanted to handle it himself.

Wow.

That could turn bad if he didn't watch it. Still, it would be a little too crowded with three people in the small bathroom so he shook his head, making sure to smile as he did so.

"Nah, it's okay, I got it."

Scott looked hesitant but nodded eventually. There was a slightly unhappy twist to his mouth though and Stiles felt his resolve weaken. Scott was just worried.

"Hey, we'll talk later, okay?" Stiles offered as a compromise.

Scott waited a beat or two before he smiled back. For a moment Stiles had to wonder if he had been neglecting Scott lately, just like Scott had done to Stiles when he had first met Allison. The thought felt foreign and a little preposterous – Stiles and Derek weren't even a couple – but why else would Stiles feel guilty about putting that look on Scott's face? Perhaps it was high time for them to have a long overdue talk about a lot of things.

But that would have to wait. After receiving another nod from Scott Stiles hurried to gather what he needed – ignoring Allison and Lydia's questioning looks – and returned to the bathroom where Derek waited.

On almost exactly the same spot.

Stiles was actually prepared to believe that Derek hadn't moved at all. He just stood there with a blank look on his face and Stiles would have given an arm to know what was going on inside the alpha's head in that moment. Since that wasn't possible he shrugged it off and instead went to dump the supplies in the sink.

Stiles turned around just in time to catch Derek pulling off his t-shirt.

Well.

That was certainly a detail Stiles hadn't considered. Derek half naked. Derek half naked while Stiles would be touching him. Right. That was definitely not going to end well.

Stiles swallowed and tried to ignore how he wanted nothing more than to touch and lick and taste and really, how had he ever thought that he wasn't attracted to guys? Talk about being in denial. And Derek was a rather spectacular specimen with all those muscles and skin and _tattoo_.

Stiles wanted to lick that tattoo.

The moment his gaze managed to see further than the tattoo and observe the rest of Derek's back Stiles felt the impending arousal fizzle out like a dying match. Deep claw marks trailed across Derek's skin and while it was obvious that they had been even more gruesome at the time of him receiving them they still looked horrible. Stiles had no idea how Derek could just shrug them off.

It looked like the other alpha must have tried to climb onto Derek's back at some point and her claws had cut deep into muscle and skin when he threw her off. Stiles held back the nausea that threatened to rise.

Derek gave him a calm look before straddling the toilet seat without preamble, facing the wall so that Stiles would have easy access to his back. The mere fact that Derek did this without hesitation struck deep within Stiles' core. Derek wasn't afraid to let Stiles close to his back.

Derek trusted him.

Stiles swallowed down on all the emotions that bubbled up inside him before setting to work, cleaning the deep grooves on Derek's back. Derek twitched every now and then when Stiles managed to press too hard or brushed over a particularly sensitive area but not a sound came past his lips. Stiles knew better than to apologize even if he was hurting Derek, well aware that the alpha wouldn't care and just shrug it off anyway. He still tried to be gentler whenever it happened.

Once cleaned Stiles moved on to the salve and if he thought that cleaning the claw marks had been bad smearing them with salve was way worse. He almost had to poke his finger inside at times and if he could have done it all without looking he would have. Feeling it was bad enough. He couldn't help sighing in relief when he was done and he was pretty certain that he heard Derek do the same.

Stiles placed the jar on the sink before turning back to inspect his work. It was easy to be clinical and not focus too much on Derek's general greatness in the physical department when he had a task to perform. Too bad it was almost finished.

"I don't think that we have bandages big enough for this," he mused thoughtfully.

"Just leave it."

Stiles snorted.

"What? You're just going to walk around half naked for the rest of the evening, waiting for them to heal?" he asked with a fair share of disbelief and a pinch of panic. Stiles wasn't sure if he would be able to handle that. Derek's front still looked pretty darn flawless and it was beyond distracting.

"It's not like I want to put that shirt back on anyway," Derek replied and nodded towards the discarded t-shirt that had indeed seen better days.

The alpha rolled his shoulders as if to test the limits of his movements and Stiles watched, hypnotized. He was still standing behind Derek, far too close for it to be entirely appropriate but Stiles felt rooted to the ground. Derek didn't move to get up either.

Stiles licked his lips and reached out, fingers trembling as they brushed softly against the skin on Derek's back, just above the tattoo. It was a bit of a miracle that the ink had somehow managed to be left undisturbed considering the state of the rest of Derek's back and Stiles knew to appreciate that. Stiles' index finger began to trail along the black tattoo, tracing the first swirl with a gentle caress.

Derek shivered.

The alpha was completely motionless apart from that though – he wasn't even breathing. Stiles found himself holding his breath too when he continued to follow the line of Derek's tattoo with careful strokes.

Once he reached the final swirl Stiles felt dizzy. He took a deep, deliberate breath before inching closer, both of his hands moving to land on Derek's shoulders. Stiles had no idea where he got the courage from – or lack of common sense perhaps – but for once he let himself embrace his impulse and pull closer. Not close enough to touch Derek's back since the deep gashes were still on full display but his hands wandered, over the curve of Derek's shoulder and down towards his collarbones.

He could feel Derek's sharp intake of breath underneath his fingertips and before he knew it Stiles had leaned forwards, his nose and lips pressing against the top of Derek's head.

Derek's hair was softer than expected and Stiles eyes fluttered close on their own volition. Stiles wasn't even sure what Derek smelled like but it made his entire being thrum with want. He wanted to pull closer. He wanted to touch even more of Derek's skin. He wanted Derek to turn around.

He wanted _everything_.

"Derek..."

It was closer to a sighing exhale than anything else, breathless and aching.

Every one of his inhibitions had flown out the window, taking his fears and hesitation with them. He couldn't find it in himself to be bothered about what Derek would think. He just wanted to tell him. Stiles wanted to tell Derek how badly he wanted this – how badly he wanted _more_.

Stiles felt Derek's fingers brush against his before the alpha turned his head, tilting it back and to the side so that he could look up at Stiles.

Shit.

Their faces were really close. Stiles breath caught and he could only stare back into Derek's bright, unusually unguarded eyes. Was this it? It felt like this could be it. Stiles would only have to lean down an inch or two and they would be kissing. Derek didn't seem to be against it. He looked so open and vulnerable in that moment that Stiles wanted to kiss him for entirely different reasons. He wanted to shelter, care and mend. He wanted to make Derek smile.

Stiles free hand rose to brush against Derek's jaw and the alpha wordlessly tilted his head closer to Stiles', so easy and willingly that there was no doubt in Stiles' mind that this really was it.

Finally.

A sudden, sharp knock on the door made Stiles flinch and he barely had time to pull back before Scott flung the door open, looking wide-eyed but apologetic. Stiles' mind scrambled for purchase, trying to flip from intimate, trembling anticipation to something more suitable to face your best friend with. His heart was thundering in his chest and he regretted having stepped away from Derek, even if it had been more of a reflex than a conscious choice. He didn't know when he would get another chance to get that close.

Derek stood up and Stiles automatically swept out with his arm to hold him back, his hand landing on Derek's abs. Wow. That definitely made Stiles' brain short circuit for a brief moment.

He wasn't sure how he knew that Derek was inches from throttling Scott but it was clear that he was. Perhaps because Scott had surprised them, perhaps because he had interrupted them or perhaps because he was just looking so darn sheepish that it was rubbing Derek the wrong way. Whatever it was Stiles didn't want to be scraping his best friend off the bathroom walls anytime soon and therefore made sure that the vicious alpha curbed his homicidal urges. If only barely.

"U-uh... hi," Scott stammered like a complete fool. "Lydia wanted to know if-... I mean where you'd like to sleep?"

Okay. That was a very reasonable question. It was late and it was safer to stay at the werewolf-proofed house than head somewhere else, but that didn't explain how _awkward_ Scott looked. Stiles knew that he had managed to back away from Derek before Scott opened the door so he hadn't seen anything suspicious.

Then he caught the almost guilty look in Scott's eyes and things clicked into place – Scott's nervous stutter, the way he fidgeted and the frankly unbelievable timing of his arrival. That utter _bastard_.

He had interrupted on purpose.

Scott must have heard or sensed what was going on and barged in to stop it. Stiles was so bewildered and angry from the realization that he couldn't even think of a suitable reply – or even start yelling at Scott for being such a jerk.

Derek seemed to gather himself much quicker.

"I don't care," he barked before, without another word, pushing his way past Scott and out the door.

Just like that. In a matter of seconds Scott had ruined everything and Derek had flipped back to being cold and harsh; Stiles could see it in the set of his shoulders. Not even the sight of Scott stumbling to catch himself from Derek's shove helped to ease the knot forming in Stiles' stomach.

What if that was the only chance he got and he just blew it?

No. _Scott_ blew it.

Stiles rounded on Scott without hesitation and kept himself from grabbing Scott's collar only out of consideration of whatever injuries he might still be healing from.

"What the _fuck_ , Scott?!" he hissed furiously, allowing his anger free reign. "I can't believe you just did that! I will never, ever, ever, _ever_ forgive you!"

Okay, that was a lie and they both knew it but Scott looked suitably reprimanded before he stepped inside the bathroom and closed the door, apparently opting for some privacy. Which wasn't such a bad idea. Jackson might still be awake and Stiles didn't want either him or Derek to hear this.

Stiles cursed under his breath while digging through the cabinets for anything he could use. Scott looked about ready to dash outside again – as he should since Stiles might actually cause him some bodily harm if he found an appropriate weapon – but relaxed a little once Stiles pulled out a hairdryer. It would have to do when it came to covering up their voices from eavesdroppers.

Stiles plugged it in with more force than necessary and took a great deal of satisfaction in watching Scott wince when he started the noisy thing.

"What the heck was that?" Stiles bit out through gritted teeth, moving into Scott's personal space and poking him in the middle of his chest. "And don't try to lie, I know you did it on purpose!"

Scott twisted anxiously, biting his lip before raising his hand in a placating gesture. Too bad Stiles wasn't in the mood to calm down.

"I just... what's going on, Stiles? What-... what was that?" Scott sounded so confused and normally that would have been enough to make Stiles feel guilty, but not this time. Not when it might actually have cost him what he and Derek had. Whatever it was.

"I don't know, Scott, because you _interrupted it_ ," Stiles snarled and waved his hands. "I was _so close_ to finding out and you ruined it!"

"But-... it's _Derek_." Scott seemed to think that was incomprehensible, that Stiles would be interested in Derek in that way.

Boy, did Stiles have news for him.

"Yes, Scott, I am well aware. The whole point is that it's Derek." His words were sharp and biting, causing Scott to wince.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Stiles backed away, but only a step. "It's been a long time coming."

Scott's eyebrows rose.

"It has? And he-... it goes both ways?"

Now they were heading towards that area where Stiles wasn't as sure anymore. Sure, Derek had seemed pretty darn into it all just minutes ago but the interruption could have changed that. Perhaps he regretted it already? Perhaps he changed his mind? Stiles wet his lips.

"I don't... I think it does. I don't know." He shrugged and pulled back even further, suddenly feeling far too vulnerable. Scott hesitated before he followed, gently and carefully, as if he was dealing with a skittish animal.

"Stiles, are you sure about this? I mean, it's Derek we're talking about here..."

Stiles frowned and couldn't help sounding a bit defensive.

"And?"

Scott remained silent for a beat or two before he took a deep breath.

"He's just Derek, you know? And he can be pretty-... well, rude. And he's a bit older than you, not to mention violent."

A part of Stiles knew that Scott was just looking out for him but he didn't appreciate the babying. It wasn't like Stiles hadn't already freaked out about all of those things, however briefly.

"Okay, one: I'm rude too. At least we won't bestow our snarkyness or some other poor bastard. Second: he's older, yes, but I haven't even kissed the guy yet. Three: violent, really? By my count your kinda-sorta-not-girlfriend has tried to kill at least twice as many of our friends than Derek has."

That last one might have been a bit unfair since Allison wasn't a part of the discussion but Stiles had never been afraid to point out when Scott was being a hypocrite – and he most certainly was now. Scott frowned and looked rather insulted there for a moment.

"That's different."

"How?" Stiles demanded, gaining strength once again. "Her mother died and yeah, I know how much that sucks, but she tried to kill Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Derek AND Jackson. And it didn't seem like she was hesitating all that much about hurting you either." Scott opened his mouth to protest but Stiles just kept going. "But that's in the past. I get that. I'm just reminding you of facts here, Scott. I don't mind you being with her – I know how much you care about her, alright? But why are you so much harsher against Derek? Why doesn't he deserve the same kind of forgiveness when, truth be told, he's done less to hurt you than Allison has?"

Scott looked taken aback, either because Stiles was being unusually forceful or because he hadn't actually thought about it before. Scott was being unreasonably unjust when it came to Derek.

"I just-... I don't know," Scott admitted eventually, looking confused and a little lost.

"I'm not saying that you're wrong to be worried – dude, I would be too – but I want you to listen to me when I say that it's _fine_. Okay? I am aware of the fact that Derek is a guy, that he is also a rather cranky guy who can rip people's throats out with his teeth and that he's a couple of years older than me. I know all that. But it's okay." To say that he knew what he was doing would be a lie but he wasn't walking into it blind either. By then he knew Derek better than Scott did anyway. "Please, Scott... I honestly don't know what he and I have but it's between us and he's not going to hurt me."

Scott looked a little doubtful.

"Okay, not intentionally at least," Stiles amended. Scott shuffled his feet, looking a lot like a kicked puppy. Stiles forced himself not to feel sorry for him.

"I'm just worried, Stiles. I don't want you to get hurt..."

Stiles took a deep breath.

"I get that, I really do. But I've been thinking about this for a while now and it's not as big of a surprise when you think about it."

"Well, the guy part isn't." Scott did a one shouldered shrug and Stiles' eyes narrowed.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. And I'm totally cool with it." Scott's smile was bright and contagious.

"So you're not going to tell me that 'I'll still be me' and all that bullshit?" Stiles asked, amused.

"As far as I'm concerned you've always been you," Scott replied without hesitation. "I don't get why I would even have to say that. I mean, why would this change anything?"

Stiles blinked, a little surprised by the ease with which Scott just accepted it all. It wasn't until Stiles felt his cheeks ache that he realized that he was grinning like a complete lunatic.

"Thanks bro. It means a lot to me."

Scott just smiled and pulled him into a hug, which was a little surprising but not unwanted. They could totally brohug there in the middle of the bathroom just after Stiles had been surprise-dragged out of the closet, to the soundtrack of a humming hairdryer. Sure thing.

"So, uh, you're okay with the guy thing, but what about the Derek thing?" Stiles asked cautiously when they took a step back from each other. Scott's hand lingered on Stiles' upper arm and he looked a bit hesitant.

"It... might take a while before I get used to the thought."

"Come on, Scott," Stiles pleaded. "You know he isn't all that bad. And I kinda-... uh... really like him."

Wow. That felt odd to say, but it was the truth. It struck him only then that he had never said it out loud before. Even when Stiles had been talking to Danny he had somehow been able to avoid saying those words outright. It felt kind of good though. Something pleasant and tingling was stirring in his chest and Stiles took a deep breath, a wide grin spreading on his lips.

Scott smiled back and clapped him on his shoulder.

"Then I'll do my very best to get used to it."

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Don't get too excited there, Scott," he snarked. Scott laughed and wrapped his arm around Stiles' shoulders.

"You know what I mean. Go for it."

Stiles nodded softly, trying to quell the nervous squirm in his stomach.

"Yeah, I will. If he'll even look at me again."

Stiles wasn't actually joking when he said that. It was a very real possibility.

Derek was unpredictable and could change his mind after the rude awakening Scott had put them through. It would have been one thing if they had gotten far enough not to be able to deny it, but now? If Derek changed his mind he could easily run from it, the status quo still intact. And Stiles wasn't sure if he would be able to stop Derek if he went for that option.

Stiles wanted to throw up.

"Dude, don't worry – he will," Scott assured, rubbing his hand over Stiles' head.

"Oh yeah? How would _you_ know? You've missed the entire thing up until now."

Scott just grinned.

"I'll make him." Scott bumped their heads together and Stiles couldn't help grinning back. "Because that's what friends do."

"Yeah, thanks." Stiles felt himself relax against Scott, grateful for the support.

Stiles' next breath was easier than the previous one and he realized once and for all that yes, this time Scott was back to stay.

And it was awesome.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles madly*
> 
> ... hrm. Yes. Had fun? I know that the whole 'interrupted kiss'-thing is super cliché but don't tell me that you think that a worried Scott WOULDN'T do it. Seriously. It had less to do with a cliché and more to do with Scott being who he is. If Scott hadn't been in the house they would totally have kissed here.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) wanted to KILL ME for this anyway. She loved that kiss approach and I went ahead and ruined it xD
> 
> Also: I wrote this chapter ages ago so any similarities between this and scenes in the actual show are purely coincidental. I haven't even seen anything from the new season, as a matter of fact. Just FYI.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it anyway, my beautiful, wonderful readers ;)
> 
> **Also, if you want you can read this chapter from Derek's POV[HERE](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/post/59957303749/through-the-wolfs-eyes-i)**


	5. Missing

 

* * *

 

Their sleeping arrangement was an organized chaos of blankets and pillows. While there were guestrooms available no one really wanted to move Isaac in risk of disturbing his fitful sleep, which meant that Stiles wanted to stay close by, just in case Isaac woke sometime during the night. Erica and Boyd made no move to evacuate the couch and if Stiles stayed then so did Scott. Lydia, Jackson, Danny and Allison were the only ones wise enough to opt for real beds but they were kind enough to round up as many blankets and pillows as possible for those camping out in the living room.

Derek was nowhere in sight.

Stiles only had Scott's reassurance that the alpha was still in the house somewhere but it was safe to say that he was probably off brooding in a closet. Pun intended.

Stiles tried not to let it get to him but it did. Derek was shunning them all like the plague. Did that mean that he regretted the almost-kiss? That he was hiding to be able to rebuild all those walls again so that once he emerged in the morning it would be like nothing happened? Like he and Stiles hadn't just been inches from finally getting to the bottom of the tension between them?

It made Stiles sick with anguish and he kept twisting and turning the entire night. More than once Stiles found himself fiddling with his dog whistle, slipping it out from underneath his t-shirt and stroking along the smooth silver surface. Not even Scott's calming presence next to him on the floor could help him relax.

He was pretty certain that he managed to catch some hours of sleep eventually but he was sluggish and tired when he blinked his eyes open the next morning. The sight of Isaac sitting on the couch with a careful little smile did brighten his awakening though. Stiles smiled back and sat up amongst the hoards of blankets and pillows he and Scott had used for a bed.

"Good morning," Stiles greeted with a yawn. "How are you feeling?"

"Aching?" Isaac replied with an amused little quirk of his lips. He shifted gingerly on the cushions, one of his hands placed over the bandage on his side.

"That is to be expected." Stiles glanced towards the couch where Erica was moving softly, probably just moments from waking up. How she and Boyd had managed to share a couch without either of them falling off it was a mystery to Stiles.

"What happened last night? I don't remember much." Isaac grimaced and Stiles rubbed his nose.

"Uh... quite a lot. After the alpha used you for a scratching pole she-... killed one of the hunters. Two of them died last night." Stiles wet his lips and cleared his throat, absently patting Scott on the head when he made a grumbling sound next to Stiles, suspiciously close to 'five more minutes'. "One werewolf got taken down but our pack is alright. More or less. You were the one who was worst off. We're at Lydia's now because she, Danny and I proofed the house last night so no one from the other pack can enter."

Isaac seemed to take a slow breath before he nodded.

"So we're not any closer to getting them out of here, are we?"

Stiles waited a moment before shaking his head, gnawing thoughtfully on his lip.

"I guess we aren't."

Isaac eyed him carefully and Stiles could tell that Erica was listening in on their conversation now. Boyd seemed to be awake as well even if his eyes remained closed.

"The full moon is tomorrow night..." Isaac left the words hanging but the underlying question was obvious. Stiles scratched Scott's scalp without really reflecting on it himself, earning himself a pleased hum from the drowsing young werewolf.

"I know."

"What are you going to do?" That was Erica, voice mumbling and soft.

Stiles looked at her in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged.

"They'll be coming for you, but perhaps if you left they-"

Stiles didn't even let her finish the sentence.

"Hey! I'm not going to run off just because I've got some werewolves at my heels! I've been doing this for a lot longer than you have and I'm not giving up now." He knew that his voice was sharper and louder than necessary but he felt genuinely insulted. Had she really thought that he would abandon them just like that?

Erica bit her lip and to Stiles' surprise Boyd was the one who spoke next.

"I think that what she meant wasn't to suggest that you _want_ to leave but that you _could_. You might survive if you do – and we wouldn't hold it against you. We'd even help you do it."

"Oh..." Stiles floundered somewhat, trying to find something to say.

They cared that much? They'd actually let him leave on the off chance that it would make him survive? He didn't know if Boyd was speaking for all of them but Erica seemed to agree. And Isaac, since he nodded quietly from his own couch.

Stiles glanced down, catching Scott's eyes. Scott didn't say anything. He just lay there looking up at Stiles, wide awake, with a neutral expression on his face; he didn't want to influence Stiles' decision.

Stiles smiled softly.

"Nah. I'll stay. Thanks for the offer though. I just don't think that it would make any difference and I couldn't leave all of you behind. My dad's still at the hospital, Isaac isn't exactly in tip top shape and I've just started learning how to do magic. Come on. Why would I want to leave?" Stiles knew that his smile wasn't as bright as it could be but the betas seemed relieved either way.

Scott inched closer, almost rubbing himself against Stiles in some pretty odd show of affection. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek not to burst out laughing.

"We still have a little over a day left," Stiles reminded them firmly while patting Scott's shoulder. "There's still time. And I won't go without a fight. We'll win this."

Stiles had no idea if it sounded comforting to them because he wasn't quite as sure as his words made him seem. He had no idea if they would make it. He had no idea if they would find the werewolves in time. They had fortified the house and the city, yes, but last night showed that in an all out brawl the other pack was still not that easy to take down. If they decided to attack head on and tear down everything in their path Stiles wasn't sure if they would be able to hold them back. And he wasn't sure if he would be able to escape them if they came for him.

He didn't say that out loud though. The others didn't need to hear his doubts.

"I'm hungry. Let's go find some food," Scott declared all of a sudden and if Stiles hadn't been sure that Scott said it mostly to change the subject he might actually have berated Scott for being so rude; it wasn't even their house.

But the other three betas perked up at the mere mention of breakfast and Stiles assumed that Lydia wouldn't have let them stay if she hadn't already figured out that they would be raiding her cabinets at some point. So Stiles gathered up the puppies and shooed them towards the kitchen, making sure not to push Isaac too hard.

Erica, Boyd and Scott seemed to have healed almost completely overnight and they were jabbing each other playfully with both words and fingers alike while the five of them tried to organize some kind of breakfast. Allison came drifting in about five minutes after they had started and while she kept close to Scott or Stiles most of the time the three betas really tried their best not to flinch whenever she happened to brush close to them.

It would take a while to fix that lack of trust but Stiles was confident that they would manage in time. If they even got the time, that is.

Stiles pushed that particularly depressing thought out of his head and continued his hunt for food before the pack of wolves – quite literally – ate it all. He also made a point to remember to take his Adderall. Lydia deserved a medal for how easily she took to the fact that her kitchen had turned into a certifiable war zone and briskly slipped into the role of the perfect hostess. Jackson and Danny opted to stay on the sidelines, eyeing the rest of the pack with a mixture of disdain and amusement. Stiles would have joined them if it wasn't for the fact that he had somehow been tasked with the responsibility of making sure that no food fights erupted – the danger of that was much higher than it should have been considering the circumstances.

Erica's impulsive comment about Stiles being their mom kind of started ringing truer for each day that passed.

Their breakfast was rowdy and strangely optimistic considering what had happened the night before, but perhaps that was it – they needed it to balance the aches of the battle. Even Allison smiled every now and then and while they all kept away from the most pressing subject at hand – namely what they were going to do next – it was a rather pleasant morning altogether.

Well, it would have been if Stiles hadn't been sitting there waiting for the last person in their pack to join them. No one asked where Derek was or seemed to expect him to arrive anytime soon.

Except Stiles.

Their breakfast was almost over when their alpha finally decided to grace them with his presence. Derek, like Isaac, was still half naked and while Stiles had no trouble dealing with Isaac in such a state of undress he felt completely different when it concerned Derek. Especially since Derek's back was completely healed by then and his skin once again smooth and flawless, spanning over all those gorgeous muscles in almost hypnotizing dips and curves.

And Stiles desperately needed to think of something else lest he wanted the entire room to realize just how fascinating he found their alpha to be.

Derek didn't seem interested in eating – surprise, surprise – and instead jumped straight to telling them that they would be focusing all their efforts on the area where Jackson and Boyd had been scouting the day before. When he and Scott had been following the fleeing wolves after the battle they seemed to have been headed in that direction. They were close now.

The pack took to the news with a grim sort of determination and Isaac assured that he would be fine enough to come with them. Stiles had his doubts but he wasn't going to baby him to the point of disrespect. The only one who would be able to judge if Isaac felt well enough to keep up with the rest of the pack was Isaac himself. Besides, Stiles was pretty certain that at least Scott would be keeping an extra eye on him, just in case.

Stiles was so focused on what was being said that it took him several minutes before he realized something that made his entire body run cold.

Derek hadn't looked at him once.

Stiles was so used to the looks by then that it barely registered – Derek was always throwing glances in his direction – but now Stiles couldn't think of a single one. Their alpha seemed to be going out of his way not to. Derek couldn't even look at him.

Stiles felt his heart clench and had to force himself to breathe. It hurt. It hurt a lot. More than their argument back at Derek's loft, when it had just been a question of Derek being defensive and rude and essentially putting his foot in his mouth. This was different. If Derek was avoiding him then it meant that he was regretting what had almost happened last night. He must have come to the decision that he didn't want it and acted accordingly, by ignoring Stiles. It wasn't just a hastily barked insult – it was undeniable rejection. They both knew that there was something between them but Derek had decided not to pursue it. It was over before it even began.

So why did it hurt so much?

"What about us humans?" Stiles heard himself ask, voice bland and dull.

"Stay here." Derek's words were a short, almost rude, command – said in a tone he hadn't used towards Stiles in ages. He was looking at Danny and Lydia, not Stiles, even if he had been the one to ask the question.

Stiles felt his heart sink. So that was it. He really had missed his chance.

Scott looked absolutely horrified because even he could pick up on Derek's sudden animosity towards Stiles and had to know that he might be partly responsible. It was difficult to say really. If Derek was against Stiles being a guy then Scott's interruption made little difference because Derek would have been forced to face that sooner or later anyway, but if it was because they _had_ been interrupted – by one in their pack no less – then Scott had some blame.

Then again, there were several reasons for why Derek might not want to pursue a relationship with Stiles. Not that Stiles really knew if a relationship had even been an alternative – even for himself – or if it was just physical. There were still things complicating the matter.

Stiles was human and a guy – Derek's sexual orientation was still a huge question mark – not to mention that he was a lot younger than Derek, which made him immature and at the moment _illegal_. Then there was Stiles' dad who wouldn't take their relationship too kindly and the fact that they were in the same pack, or just simply that Stiles wasn't even close to Derek's league. Even if Derek was rude and harsh he was on a completely different level and Stiles was just a spastic teenager who couldn't shut up. Come to think of it, the entire thing the other night was probably due to some pain-induced lapse of judgment on Derek's part. He had no reason to kiss Stiles. He had no reason to like Stiles.

Sure, it had been established that Derek _liked_ him and cared whether he lived or died but that was very different from wanting a relationship with him. Which he clearly didn't, judging on his behavior. And Stiles would just have to accept that, no matter how much it hurt.

At least it was obvious what Derek wanted now – or didn't, if one were to be precise. Stiles wouldn't have to feel confused anymore. Now he knew; Derek wasn't interested. It had been close but when the alpha had gotten some time to think about it he had realized that he didn't want it.

Fine. Stiles could deal with that.

Stiles took a deep breath and wet his lips, ignoring the downright alarmed look Lydia gave him. There was sympathy there – which Stiles resolutely denied himself – and forced himself to return his gaze to the alpha. At least Derek hadn't made an attempt to kick Stiles out of the pack.

He wasn't sure if he would be able to handle that.

Derek didn't say much else. He just ordered the werewolves to be ready to leave in an hour before he stalked out the door. Probably to go home and find himself another t-shirt. Stiles didn't as much as flinch. He could do this. The pain in his chest was manageable. He wasn't going to be that pathetic kind of guy who couldn't take no for an answer and kept swooning despite it being obvious that nothing would happen. Stiles knew how people had laughed at him for doing so with Lydia and he wasn't going to do it with Derek. Not this time. No, he would accept the rejection for what it was and move on.

They had more important things to deal with anyway.

Stiles rose from his chair, moving out of reach from Scott's hand that tried to rein him in and probably apologize or whine or offer pity – heck, Stiles didn't know. He didn't want it either way.

Instead he declared that he was going to clean the living room, avoiding all the looks the rest of the pack gave him – even those unaware of Stiles' unwanted feelings for Derek had noticed that something was off between the two of them. Stiles could do this. He was used to rejection. It would get easier to breathe eventually. He could handle the pain. Just endure. He was good at that.

He would endure.

Scott made several more attempts to talk to Stiles before the hour was up but Stiles avoided each and every one of them. He didn't want pity. If Derek didn't want him then that was fine. People got rejected every day. Stiles didn't need extra coddling.

He could do this.

It was a relief when the werewolves finally left and Stiles only had to dodge questions from Lydia and Danny, Allison having left the same time as the wolves. And dodge them he did.

He didn't want to talk about it.

 

 

After a quick shower and a change of clothes Stiles called his dad to make sure that everything was still alright over at the hospital, but things had apparently remained the same throughout the night – no trouble and no new admissions. His dad proceeded to explain that he and Mr. Argent had had a long talk about what had happened and what was to come and just like that his dad knew that Stiles stood first in line to die on the night of the full moon. Stiles knew that his dad would find out eventually – he would have told him himself if he hadn't chickened out all the time – but it could have been done more smoothly.

Stiles didn't as much as protest when his dad berated and reprimanded him over the phone, demanding to know why Stiles hadn't told him earlier. Stiles had barely been able to keep the tears at bay since his dad seemed to think that Stiles didn't trust him, which wasn't the problem at all. Stiles trusted his dad unconditionally – he just didn't want to worry him. He didn't want his dad to have to fear losing Stiles too.

He swallowed and accepted each and every one of his dad's words, knowing that he deserved them.

As it was Stiles was grateful for Mrs. McCall and her superpowers of awesome because she was apparently the only thing keeping his dad at the hospital at that point. Stiles couldn't blame his dad for wanting to protect his son though. The question was just if it would help. Stiles wasn't sure if there was anything his dad _could_ do.

Stiles promised to be careful either way and confirmed that no, he was not expected to search for the other werewolves with the rest of the pack. But they were closing in. They would get them soon. His dad didn't sound convinced.

Stiles spent a lot of time talking to his dad, simply because it gave him a reason not to be near Lydia and Danny, who had been giving him increasingly worried looks ever since the rest of the pack had left. They could of course tell that something had happened between Stiles and Derek and that everything was different now – that Stiles had officially been rejected – but since Stiles was so tight-lipped they had none of the details. Stiles refused to talk about it even if he appreciated the encouragement both of them had given him before it all went to hell. They were good friends but this was between him and Derek.

It still hurt though.

Once the conversation with his dad was over Stiles briefly toyed with the idea to have Lydia drive him over to his house since he _still_ hadn't gotten his Jeep back, but he knew that it was better to stay safe and besides, he wouldn't be able to survive the cross examination she would put him through in the car. He might be able to avoid her when they were at her house but in a tightly confined space like a car he would be doomed. And he'd rather not tempt fate.

Instead they made sure to prepare as well as they could. They cleaned away the traces from last night, looked over the books to see if they could find more useful spells and Stiles continued with his little experiment, placing the doughy little herb balls in a couple of plastic bags.

Stiles was in the middle of marking the bags – to avoid any of the werewolves opening them on mistake – when the call came. Stiles didn't actually hear the call of course since it came to Lydia, not him, but he sure as hell heard the aftermath.

"STILES!"

Stiles wasn't sure if he had ever heard Lydia sound so terrified, not even the time she had called when Jackson and Danny had been ambushed out in the woods. He froze for a fraction of a second – panic welling up inside him – before he dropped what he was doing and ran for the living room where Lydia and Danny had moved to once Stiles had made it absolutely clear that he didn't want to talk to them.

Lydia was standing there, helplessly staring at her phone like it was the only thing keeping her together. Stiles hurried over, placing a gentle hand on one of her arm, Danny hovering at her other side.

"Lydia? What is it? What happened?" Stiles tried to sound gentle but the urgency – the _worry_ – made his voice sharper than usual. Lydia swallowed, her bottom lip trembling, and it felt like a punch in the gut to see the unshed tears glistening on her lashes.

"They got them," she whispered breathlessly, gasping for air. "I heard it. They got to them."

Stiles blinked, feeling his own panic blossom and grow in his chest. But he couldn't freak out just yet. He needed to find out exactly what had happened.

"Lydia, what are you talking about?"

"Jackson a-and Boyd!" she hissed, sounding close to frantic. "Jackson called but when I picked up I could only hear muffled sounds in the background. I tried to ask what was going on but I just-... there was a roar a-and a struggle, I think. Then it just disconnected." She turned her tearful eyes towards Stiles. "They got to them. The other pack got to them. Oh my God, Stiles, they could be dead!"

Stiles caught Lydia on pure reflex when she flung herself against him and buried her face in his t-shirt. Stiles met Danny's eyes over her head, seeing his own fear reflected back at him. His brain was lagging, trying to process what was going on, but it took a moment longer than usual. The sheer panic – the knowledge that Lydia might be right, that Jackson and Boyd might just have gotten killed and she had witnessed it over the phone – was almost too much to bear.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment before summoning up what little determination he might have left. All of them were running on reserves by then. He pushed Lydia back as gently as he could and he wasn't surprised to see that while she was crying she was far from hysterical.

"We don't know that yet, Lydia, so let's assume they have been captured. The other pack probably wants more betas now that at least three of them are dead and won't risk killing two of those they can forcibly recruit." Stiles turned his gaze towards Danny. "Call Allison and let them know what happened, Lydia, go start your car. If the other pack is trying to off ours one group at a time we need to get out there and bring the rest of them back as soon as we can. We'll drop by my house on the way towards the woods so I can get my Jeep." Stiles took another deep breath. "And if Jackson and Boyd are alive we'll need all the eyes we can get, even humans."

Lydia gave a swift nod while Danny pulled his phone from his pocket.

"What about you?" Danny asked while simultaneously scrolling to find Allison's number on his phone. Stiles swallowed.

"I need to call Derek and let him know what happened."

Both Danny and Lydia stopped to stare at him in surprise. Stiles gritted his teeth.

"What? It's what I usually would do," he defended. He wasn't going to act differently just because Derek had ditched him. Stiles refused to let it affect how he behaved.

Lydia smiled weakly, patting his arm softly, before heading off to get the car started. Stiles took a detour to the kitchen while speed dialing Derek. He hadn't even reflected on the fact that one of the first things he had done when he had gotten his new phone was to add Derek on speed dial, just after his dad and Scott. That knowledge made something ugly and painful twist in Stiles chest.

He pushed it aside in favor of grabbing a bag of his herb balls and shoving it into his pocket, clutching his phone between his ear and shoulder. He quickly grabbed his backpack next, tearing out the stray pieces of clothing he still had in it in search for the gun.

It took longer than usual for Derek to answer but there could be several reasons for that.

"I'm a little busy, Stiles." Derek sounded cranky and Stiles bit back the _hurt_ at hearing Derek's voice so cold and impersonal again. He hadn't realized that Derek had slowly but surely started using an entirely different tone when he spoke to Stiles – a teasing, melodious one. Stiles missed it.

"So you know that Jackson and Boyd got ambushed?" Stiles didn't waste any time, not when he knew that Derek really didn't want to talk to him right now.

If Derek could be unreasonably rude then so could Stiles.

"Yes," Derek gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Good," Stiles snapped, heading for the door as soon as he'd gotten the gun and his car keys out from his backpack, "then you'll be prepared for us when we come to join you."

There was a short moment of silence.

"Stiles-" It was a horrible, angry growl but Stiles refused to let it get to him.

"Oh shut it. You know that I won't be able to keep Lydia from going and if she goes then so will Danny and I'm not going to stay here on my own."

Stiles stormed out through the front door, slamming it shut behind him. Lydia and Danny were already waiting in Lydia's car, idling in the driveway. Danny was on his phone and Stiles hopped into the back without much pause.

"You won't be able to keep up," Derek barked and Stiles felt the first roll of true anger.

Lydia peeled out of the driveway with squealing tires.

"Don't give me that bullshit. I know we're not werewolves but we can still walk through the fucking woods looking for our friends!"

"And what if the other werewolves come back?" Derek was seething, his words closer to snarling growls than anything else.

"We've got ways to deal with it – or you put us with a werewolf each so that someone can protect us." Stiles knew that he was being unreasonable, that he might be making things more difficult for Derek than was strictly necessary, but Stiles was sick of being idle. He didn't want to sit at Lydia's house, waiting for the werewolves to come back bloody and beaten again. He couldn't do that and he knew for a fact that Lydia wouldn't.

"Stiles, we're just one day from the full moon, you shouldn't go anywhere near them," Derek bit out and yeah, he had a point, but Stiles refused to acknowledge it.

Danny was done talking and Lydia kept giving Stiles concerned glances in the rear-view mirror.

"So? I don't care." A lie. "Just tell us where to meet you all. We'll help you search for Jackson and Boyd."

"Stiles, I'm not letting you-"

"If I die I die, okay? The she-alpha targeted me specifically because I'm part of the pack, alright? Not going out there won't change a thing. I'd rather die trying to help the pack – which is what got me into this mess in the first place – than hide in Lydia's house like some fucking coward. Jackson and Boyd are both worth it. I can't believe that I'm saying that but I am. They're in danger and we need to help them. If the other pack comes for me, well, then at least you'll be rid of me and my annoying presence for good," Stiles snapped.

Derek was suddenly deathly silent and Stiles had to pull the phone from his ear and look at the display just to make sure that he hadn't lost the connection somehow.

"Derek?" Stiles frowned, trying to catch any kind of sound on the other end. It was disturbingly quiet. "Derek? Tell me where to meet up. Allison might be bringing some hunter to help too. We'll get Jackson and Boyd back. I'm sure the other pack hasn't killed them."

It was interesting to hear how Stiles' voice went from angry to almost pleading in the span of a couple of sentences.

Why wasn't Derek answering? It was unnerving.

"The north trail, by the brook. Park the cars there." Derek sounded off – distant – as if he was thinking of something else entirely. That didn't calm Stiles in the least.

"O-okay... thanks." Stiles felt an uneasy squirm in his chest. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite tell what but something was definitely wrong and he didn't like it in the least. "Derek, you'll-"

Stiles didn't get any further before Derek hung up. Stiles stared at his phone in confusion and a small amount of fear, not really knowing what to think.

Eventually Lydia caught his attention by clearing her throat.

"What did he say?" She sounded odd too, but wary rather than distant. Stiles guessed he couldn't blame her considering how he had just had a very loud argument in the back of her car.

Stiles shook himself out of his daze and looked at the two in the front seat.

"By the north trail, next to the brook. The others will meet us there."

Danny and Lydia offered confirming nods and Stiles took a deep breath while rubbing a hand over his buzz cut. He had a feeling that this wasn't going to end well. It was still in the middle of the day but if the other pack dared to snatch two betas without the cover of the dark then there was no telling what they would do once it arrived.

And the full moon was just a day away.

Stiles gritted his teeth and took a moment to gather himself.

"Now." He looked from Lydia to Danny. "Do either of you know how to use a gun?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather depressing chapter, in more ways than one. But it's all necessary and I have a plan, don't worry ;)  
> Don't lose faith! I just need to up the stakes some more before the end, don't you think?
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is still my very reliable beta and you can find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions!


	6. Search Party

 

* * *

 

Getting the Jeep – because two cars were better than one if they needed to transport the entire pack – was handled quickly and efficiently, Danny opting to stay in Lydia's car for convenience. All three of them headed for the designated meeting place, the location having been forwarded to Allison just in case she could round up some hunters to help.

It definitely wasn't the hunters' responsibility but a part of Stiles hoped that they were a bit tighter now after everything they had gone through as allies. Two betas from the pack was missing and they needed to locate them, not only to bring them back to safety but to make sure that they weren't forced to fill the thinning ranks of the invading pack. It was a problem for all of them but most of all Stiles wanted them to help because it would be the right thing to do.

Once they reached the trail they parked next to Derek's Camaro and Jackson's Porsche. Stiles hadn't known that the werewolves actually took the cars out to the woods – although it made sense for them to do so of course – but he guessed that Jackson's Porsche wasn't going anywhere if Jackson still had the keys on him.

Stiles climbed out of the Jeep and suddenly felt the by then familiar twinge in his ankle. He had completely forgotten about his injury in the heat of the moment and he prayed that it wouldn't hinder him too much out in the woods. He didn't have time to start limping now.

Scott was by his side in an instant and Stiles could see Erica and Isaac linger over by the tree line.

Stiles frowned.

"Where's Derek?" He turned towards Scott, who looked uncomfortable and a little worried.

"We don't know. Erica said that she and Derek were heading back here but all of a sudden he was just gone."

Stiles eyes widened.

"Gone? What do you mean 'gone'? He's a huge werewolf alpha! How can he just be gone? He can't exactly hide easily in this terrain!" Where the stems were mostly thin and willowy and the bushes were spread wide apart and the greenery patchy at best. No one as big as Derek should be able to disappear under those kinds of conditions.

Then again – it was Derek. Sometimes Stiles forgot how utterly kickass and stealthy he was simply because he was also sullen, stubborn and childish.

"I don't know, Stiles!" Scott whispered back, as if they were trying to keep someone from listening in. Fat chance. Isaac and Erica weren't even trying to hide that they were eavesdropping and Lydia and Danny stood too close not to hear it.

Stiles ground his teeth.

"Fine. We'll do this without him." Stiles couldn't believe that Derek failed them at such a crucial moment. He was going to give the alpha one stern talking to once they had gotten Jackson and Boyd back. "Come on!"

Stiles waved for the others to join him and Scott, selfishly declaring himself the leader of the operation. Without Derek Scott would be next in line but he wasn't exactly known for his tactical decisions so Stiles it was.

"We'll split up, one werewolf, one human," Stiles explained. "Danny's got a gun with wolfsbane bullets on account of being one-armed at the moment so Erica, try to bear with it, okay? It's for your protection as much as his."

Erica nodded grimly, her face pale but determined. She was probably missing Boyd already.

"Lydia, you're with Isaac and I go with Scott. Neither Lydia or I are armed so we'll put out faith in you guys." Stiles gave Scott and Isaac questioning looks and the two werewolves nodded in almost perfect unison.

Okay, Stiles had his experiments in his pocket but he wasn't going to count on them working; especially since he suspected that they would have to ingested to be effective.

Stiles was just in the middle of pointing out the directions they should search in, heavily aided by Scott's pointers on where they had already been, when another car came pulling up next to the by now rather eye catching gathering. The werewolves stiffened even if Scott was also trying to peer over the cars in a way that could only mean that Allison was one of the new arrivals.

Erica and Isaac looked particularly uncomfortable because they had so far been told to remain out of sight whenever hunters approached and there wasn't anywhere to hide really, except behind the cars but that would just be a momentary solution. Stiles steeled himself and gave the two betas comforting smiles before striding forward to meet Allison and the four other hunters that filed out of the car.

More than Stiles thought would come.

"Wolf boy."

Stiles felt a twinge at the nickname – the one Gary had given him – but nodded in confirmation all the same, accepting Walter's handshake without as much as a flinch this time. The older hunter gave a smile but it was weak and didn't reach his eyes. Stiles' heart made a painful jerk.

"I'm sorry about Gary and Felicia," Stiles blurted out, pretty glad that he had managed to remember the woman's name even if he didn't know who she was.

Walter seemed surprised by the show of compassion and his gaze softened remarkably once he seemed to realize that Stiles really meant it.

"Thank you, Stiles. We all know the risks but it's never easy to lose one of yours."

Stiles swallowed and nodded. He had gotten far too close to that far too many times these past two weeks. Allison sidled up next to him but the pack hung back, looking a little suspicious. Scott was the only one besides Stiles who had dealt with the hunters to any larger degree and he was needed to keep Erica and Isaac calm. That was fine. For once Stiles wasn't afraid of the hunters.

He could handle this.

"What's your plan?" Kim asked, strolling up to the rest of them and while her tone was light her gaze was sharp, just like before. Stiles could appreciate it now that he knew that she was at least momentarily on his side.

"Well, I need to rework it now that you've gotten here." But that had only taken him a moment. "We've got three werewolves and three humans here. I'd like Allison to go with Lydia, Danny with one of you while I go with Scott. The remaining two werewolves with each other."

He didn't know if not mentioning Erica and Isaac's names was an unnecessary precaution but he'd do anything he could to protect them.

"Seems fair enough." Kim nodded, her eyes wandering over the pack standing a short distance away. "Danny's the one with a broken arm?" Stiles nodded. "Alright, he can come with me."

"He has the gun I got from Mr. Argent so he's armed despite the... ur... arm."

Kim raised an eyebrow.

"And what about you then, wolf boy?"

Stiles swallowed.

"I'll be fine. I've got Scott." He shrugged towards his best friend who, adorably enough, puffed his chest just a little. Stiles fought not to smile.

"Where's your alpha?" Walter asked, which was a valid question but it still caught Stiles slightly off guard.

Derek should have been there.

"The alpha is off scouting already," Stiles lied. It was a bad lie but neither Kim nor Walter called him out on it. Derek was in such deep trouble if they survived this.

Kim and Walter shared a glance, something akin to a smile playing on Kim's lips.

"You're different," she pointed out, nodding towards Stiles, then the rest of the pack. "All of you. You've united, haven't you?"

Stiles blinked and found it harder to lie this time. So after a short exhale he nodded.

"Yeah, we're a pack now." Stiles felt the pride of those words swell in his chest. They were a pack. They would fight this together and they wouldn't leave Jackson and Boyd out there, no matter if they were living or dead. But Stiles refused to accept anything but them being alive.

"And you? Still, what was it you called it? Human negotiator, research expert and werewolf obedience trainer?" Kim teased. God, Stiles couldn't believe that she actually remembered that.

He offered her a crooked smile.

"Yeah, pretty much. But I go by pack mom for short."

Stiles didn't have to turn around to know that Erica was grinning from ear to ear. Even Allison gave a small snicker but her eyes were soft. Yeah, Stiles was totally the pack mom.

Kim barked out a laugh and cuffed Stiles on the head.

"You are one of a kind, aren't you, wolf boy?"

Stiles grinned.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he replied with a shrug.

"Well, your pack is lucky to have you." Walter gave him a surprisingly respectful nod before looking towards the woods. "Let's do our best to bring them back in one piece, shall we?"

Stiles nodded firmly before quickly relaying the information about where to search and who was going to go where. The hunters took to it with the kind of ease that Stiles assumed had to be bred from doing this professionally. Stiles was just surprised that no one tried to correct or go against him, but he never voiced that out loud.

Once the pairs and their search grids were finalized all of them geared up – Stiles saw Allison hand Lydia a nasty looking dagger and accepted one of his own from Kim after some protests. She did have a point that it was better to have _something_ , just in case. Stiles was just glad that he had been able to hand the gun off for now. He knew that he might have to get used to the thought of firing it again – it was a very effective way to keep yourself safe – but it would take some time before he was ready. He didn't want to kill again. Not if he could help it.

Stiles made sure to give both Erica and Isaac a quick pat and a gentle smile before sending them off, gesturing for Scott to come with him towards their own destination. He caught Kim and Walter's gazes, giving them both thankful smiles and a quick salute before he and Scott disappeared among the trees.

Stiles still had no idea where Derek was or what on earth had compelled the alpha to up and leave them when they needed him the most and Stiles definitely wasn't going to go easy on him once they found him. He knew that Derek was a little odd and not the brightest crayon in the box but even the alpha had to realize that this was stupid. They _needed_ him. Heck, _Stiles_ needed him. The pack was still too frail for him to test their trust like this.

Derek would have a lot to explain.

But first thing first – getting Jackson and Boyd back to safety.

 

 

The search was tedious, grueling work. There wasn't much vegetation but there were hills, logs and rocks and it went on for _hours_. Stiles had known that it wouldn't just be a matter of strolling in there and fetching Jackson and Boyd but he had hoped that it would take less time than this. The other pack should have been slowed down by the fact that they had to drag two werewolves with them as they went – whether they were conscious or not – but so far they had seen no signs of that.

They were fairly certain that Jackson and Boyd were still alive though. Erica had reported over a text that she and Isaac had found Jackson's broken phone and signs of a struggle but only minor amounts of blood. That was good news as well as bad news because it would have been easier to track them if there was a trail of blood to follow, no matter how morbid it sounded.

But they would just have to make do without it.

It was obvious that Stiles was slowing Scott down after a while, not so much because he was human but because his ankle was beginning to act up. It didn't hurt with every step but as soon as he managed to land a little crookedly or take too large a leap he felt a sharp sting of pain. It was manageable but annoying.

Stiles gritted his teeth and continued to walk.

They kept in contact through their phones, mainly texts, but it was obvious that all of them were heading way deeper into the woods than they had first intended. If anything actually happened the chance of any of the other groups reaching them in time wasn't that great, but that didn't seem to deter them.

Stiles let out a pained groan and leaned forward, bracing his hands against his knees. He wasn't suited for this. While the worry and urgency had kept him going for longer than usual he was beginning to tire and he was thirsty and hungry. He cursed himself for not bringing at least a bottle of water.

Scott halted a couple of paces ahead, looking as energetic as when they had started. Damned werewolves.

Scott kept trying to catch either Jackson or Boyd's scent but he had explained that it was more difficult than usual. Their smells seemed to have mingled with the other werewolves' and while their combined scent should have been easy to follow there seemed to be several trails, crisscrossing. The sheer number of trails to follow had to mean that they were close to the pack's hiding place if they frequented the area to that extent, but it wasn't much of a help right now. They still didn't know which way to go.

"We could rest," Scott offered cautiously, probably not wanting to sound like he was babying Stiles.

Stiles glanced up, honestly contemplating the offer for a moment before he shook his head.

"Nah, I can keep going for a while longer. Then we'll rest." Stiles knew that he had limits but it would become dark soon and he would be even more useless then. He'd treasure what little daylight they had left.

Scott nodded and started walking again, Stiles following on sheer determination. He didn't miss the fact that their pace was a little slower though but if Scott didn't mention it then neither would Stiles.

Time passed slowly and the scenery never really changed. Stiles allowed Scott to lead because he was the one with the enhanced senses while Stiles kept an eye on his phone, making sure that he didn't miss and update from the others. The sun was beginning to set and Stiles was growing antsy. How he managed to find the energy to feel antsy while basically being dead on his feet was a mystery but Stiles had always prided himself in being a bit of a special cookie.

Stiles didn't notice that Scott had stopped until he walked straight into his back, narrowly avoiding bumping his forehead against the back of Scott's skull – which would have hurt like a bitch because Scott's head was pretty darn hard.

"Ssh!" Scott sounded tense, his whisper sharp in the otherwise quiet forest. Stiles swallowed and pressed his lips together not to make a sound. He barely even breathed.

He didn't know if Scott was so tense because he heard something that would help them find Jackson and Boyd or whether it was the other pack coming to kill them. Either way Stiles knew the importance of not breaking Scott's concentration.

"Something's wrong." Scott had barely said the words before he took off running and to his own surprise Stiles was just one step behind.

He wanted to ask what was going on but there was no guarantee that Scott knew. Instead Stiles tried to focus on breathing and pushing his body and aching ankle forward despite its protests.

He was going to be in so much pain tomorrow.

Despite Stiles' best efforts Scott ended up several steps ahead of him within a matter of seconds.

Stiles half-stumbled when he heard the first menacing growl echo between the trees. That couldn't be good. They didn't seem to be directed towards them, since Scott didn't crouch down into a defensive stance, but someone was in deep trouble judging on the chorus of snarls and barks.

They stumbled down a sloping hill, Stiles flailing to keep his balance while Scott took a graceful leap and landed without as much as a wobble. The sun was sinking lower and lower on the horizon, casting long shadows and coloring the entire forest in burning yellow. It would almost have been pretty if Stiles hadn't been so scared.

When Stiles managed to right himself he caught the first glance of the commotion ahead and while his feet kept moving on pure reflex for another couple of steps, his brain was struggling to keep up.

Derek was there. Derek and four other werewolves, undeniably from the other pack since Stiles didn't recognize them. While Scott kept running Stiles found himself slow to a confused halt, too stunned to keep going.

It wasn't that Derek was facing four werewolves from the other pack that surprised him – it was that he wasn't fighting back. Stiles saw Derek get thrown to the ground and while the alpha made a move to rise he did it slowly, sluggishly, and didn't struggle when two of the werewolves grabbed him to pull him upright with force.

What was going on? Why wasn't Derek fighting back? Those four werewolves were betas, he was an alpha – he could easily get away from them.

What was Derek doing?

Stiles stumbled a step or two before he started running again, startled by the vicious growls that came from the four werewolves. Derek still wasn't fighting back. Why wasn't he fighting back? They would kill him if he didn't. They knew that by now.

It wasn't until Derek's back connected with a tree, pushed up against the bark by two sets of restraining hands, that Stiles realized what was going on. Perhaps it was the tired, defeated look on Derek's face or the triumphant smirks on the four werewolves' faces.

Whatever it was it all came back to Stiles like a sucker punch.

Peter's warning. Peter's seemingly ludicrous warning that one of them might give up before the end; that Derek might give in. Stiles couldn't for the life of him understand why – Derek never gave up. Derek was the most resilient, stubborn and fearless person Stiles knew. He always kept fighting, even when he didn't seem to have any strength left or a reason to keep going.

Why would he give up now, when he had so much to protect?

Suddenly Stiles felt incredibly stupid. That was it, wasn't it? Derek had something to protect now. He had the pack; Jackson and Boyd were in trouble and Stiles would be killed in less than a day now unless they managed to stop the other pack – or accepted their deal. The deal that meant that Derek had to die. That was why he wasn't fighting back. He wanted them to kill him.

He had agreed to the deal behind his pack's backs.

Scott's furious roar didn't do much to deter the four werewolves, even when Scott launched himself at the closest one with a ferocity Stiles had never seen before. Scott recognized that his alpha was in danger – nothing else mattered.

Jesus fucking _Christ_ this couldn't be happening. Not like this. Not now.

This was all Stiles' fault.

He shouldn't have snapped at Derek over the phone. He shouldn't have thrown his own impending death in Derek's face like that; not when Jackson and Boyd were already in trouble. Derek had always been so careless about his own well-being. Of course he'd think it was an easy sacrifice for him to die in their stead.

The tragic, self-hating, stupid, lovable, wonderful bastard.

A choked gasp was all Stiles could manage at first, his feet tripping over themselves in his hurry. Furious bark and snarls shot through the air, Scott putting up one hell of a fight considering his numeral disadvantage, but Derek still wasn't moving, still wasn't fighting against what could very well be a killing strike. He just looked confused – as if he couldn't quite believe that Scott was actually there – and that look, that frail, heartbroken look in Derek's eyes, finally made Stiles able to scream around the lump of fear his throat.

"DEREK!" Stiles' panic was so bare and real, torn out of him like barbed wire.

Derek couldn't die. Derek couldn't _let_ himself die. Not for the pack, not for Stiles – not for anyone.

Derek couldn't die.

Derek's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused, zeroing in on Stiles without even trying. For a breathless moment their gazes held, Derek's red and Stiles' brown, and Stiles wasn't even sure what Derek saw. All Stiles knew that he wasn't holding back. He was practically vibrating in fear, his heart beating out a panicked tattoo against his ribcage while he could barely breathe through the worry he felt.

Whatever passed between them seemed to be enough.

The moment shattered when the entire woods shook with Derek's blood chilling howl. Stiles would have sighed in relief if he hadn't been so preoccupied skidding to a sudden halt to avoid barreling into one of the werewolves. He was still only human after all and the brawl that would commence now that Derek seemed back on track would be far too rowdy for him.

Not that the werewolf in front of him seemed to agree on that.

Stiles stumbled backwards when the wolf – its transformed face twisted in anger – made a sweep as if to grab him. Right. This was bad. Stiles was never meant to engage in actual combat. He still fumbled for the dagger Kim had given him, knowing that he'd have better chances with that than trying to fight off a werewolf empty-handed.

Derek tore free, one of the werewolves holding him crashing against a rock with what could only be the snapping of several bones while Scott was grappling with another. Neither of them could reach him and help right now. Stiles was on his own.

The werewolf made another lunge and Stiles dodged out of the way, if only barely, his ankle giving a twinge in protest. He tried to make a swipe with the dagger, settling for any kind of damage that would slow the werewolf down but Stiles wasn't trained. Sure, he could guess were to aim but his movements were too wide and uncoordinated to be really effective. Even if he managed to land one long gash on the werewolf's ribcage before it turned to face him again Stiles felt so slow and clumsy in comparison to the predator he was trying to fight off. In that moment he had no idea why anyone would want to do this for a living.

Adrenaline rushed through him, thankfully enough dulling the horror of what was really going on.

Next time the werewolf charged Stiles wasn't as lucky.

He managed to sink the dagger somewhere into its side but the momentum was too great and they both tumbled to the forest floor in an ungraceful heap. The werewolf was spitting and snapping, growling low in its throat and Stiles had lost the hold of the dagger when they went down. It might still be lodged in the werewolf's side or somewhere on the ground but Stiles didn't have enough time to search for it.

Whatever damage he had done didn't seem to be enough to do more than slow the werewolf down. It pushed Stiles flat on his back, clearly trying to get to his throat with either claws or teeth.

Stiles hand quickly went to his pocket, grasping for the plastic bag he knew was there. It was still a long shot – just an experiment – but without the dagger he didn't have much else to defend himself with. Stiles thought that he heard Scott call for him but he had other things to focus on.

Clawed hands gripped his shoulders and Stiles knew that it wouldn't take much for those nails to pierce his t-shirt and skin. Before he had time to talk himself out of this stupid, risky idea of his one of his hands shot up, pushing against the werewolf's forehead. It wasn't a punch or anything that caused any kind of harm – but it did make the werewolf open its jaws.

Stiles quickly pulled out one of the small herb balls he had made, shoved it into the werewolf's mouth and slapped his hand over it to keep it from spitting it out, heedless of the sharp teeth. It was a beta, not an alpha, so while it might hurt he wouldn't be transformed from a bite.

There was a moment of complete stillness where Stiles met those shimmering, golden eyes, now widened in shock and confusion, before the werewolf gave a choking sound and shuddered. A blast of heat surged against Stiles' palm and he pulled it away just as the werewolf started hacking and coughing, clawing at its own throat.

Stiles lay there on his back, blinking stupidly at the werewolf as it stumbled to its feet, whining, growling and choking. It was clear that it was trying to spit out the little ball but the damage seemed to have already been done, if the faint glow pulsing out from its throat was anything to go by.

Stiles hadn't thought that the dragon powder would be so literal; it seemed like the werewolf's throat was burning up from the inside.

The werewolf gave a final whining choke before it turned and ran, giving Stiles a furious but terrified look before it went.

Well. That was kinda awesome.

Stiles would have spent more time preening at his own success if there hadn't still been three other werewolves to take care of. None of those three seemed prepared to give up, even if they were fighting against an alpha and his beta.

Stiles climbed shakily to his feet, ignoring the alarming stab of pain up along his left leg, and limped towards where the rest of the fight was taking place. Scott looked to be winning – but it wasn't by much – while Derek had two wolves trying to pin him to the ground. Derek might have been good at avoiding that with his own betas but these two were better trained and it became obvious that while Derek managed to remain standing he couldn't quite gain the upper hand either. Especially not when one of them made a move to tackle him to the ground.

Before Stiles had really considered the possible consequences of his actions he rushed forward and jumped onto the werewolf's back. It was a big guy, easily larger than Boyd even, and Stiles was obviously trying to get himself killed tonight.

The werewolf snarled and bucked but Stiles managed to hang on by wrapping his right arms straight across its throat, cutting off the air supply as an added bonus. Stiles had no idea how long he would be able to keep that up but at least Derek got a couple of precious seconds to focus on the second werewolf.

Stiles didn't have time to reach for his pocket, everything turning into a blur when the werewolf tried to shake him off again. Something collided with Stiles right shoulder and he realized distantly that it had to be a tree. The adrenaline dulled the pain tough. Another growl from the werewolf, vibrating into Stiles' very core, and suddenly Scott seemed to become aware of what was going on.

"Stiles!"

It wasn't like Stiles could answer and in the next moment he became acutely aware that while he didn't feel a collision with a tree for some reason there were limits to what his body could and couldn't ignore.

A set of claws burying in his right bicep wasn't one of them.

A scream ripped from Stiles' throat before he was able to stop it, the claws digging in deeper as the werewolf tried to pry him away.

Stiles felt a dizzying swoop when his grip loosened enough for the werewolf to finally pull him off, throwing him to the ground with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. Stiles' arm was burning but even that became secondary a moment later, when several things seemed to be happening at once.

The werewolf now towering over Stiles took a step closer, probably to finish the job in whatever way it saw fit while Scott tried to reach them with panic written all over his face.

Then, a sound – so feral, vicious and _not human_ – that only the one having uttered it didn't find himself frozen in pure terror. Derek lunged at the werewolf hovering above Stiles and there was no finesse in his movements – no thought, hesitation or mercy – just pure hate. The other werewolf might have been bigger but it made no difference. Not when the opponent was an alpha.

A seriously pissed off alpha.

Stiles turned his head away just in time not to witness exactly what Derek's teeth and claws could do to a throat but he could still hear it. A sick ripping sound followed by what could only be blood splattering against the trees and ground around them. Stiles felt faint, a roaring sound rising in his ears, blocking out anything else he might hear. At least for a couple of seconds.

Scott was suddenly by his side, pulling him to his feet and away from the two remaining werewolves. They didn't seem to know whether to attack again or not though, horror slowly creeping up on their faces when Derek rose from his crouch, turning towards them with all the menace of a feral, murderous alpha. He was smeared with blood – none of it his own – and he didn't have to do more than roar, furiously, before the two werewolves turned tail and ran.

For a second Stiles thought that Derek would make chase – the gleam in his red eyes sure seemed to suggest that he wanted to – but eventually Derek turned towards Stiles and Scott instead, face still transformed and pretty menacing.

Stiles wondered if it was too late to follow the two werewolves' example and make a run for it.

Derek looked _livid_ and never before had he seemed more like a wild animal, splattered with blood and shoulders tense and raised, as if he was ready to lunge at a moment's notice.

Stiles swallowed. He had no idea what had just happened but it was as terrifying as it was impressive.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Scott breathed from beside him, patting Stiles down without actually touching his arm – which was obviously hurt considering how much it was bleeding.

Stiles chanced a look at it but had to turn away at once not to puke. Okay, it probably wasn't that bad but he still didn't like blood and there was a lot of it. A huge fucking lot. He didn't dare to touch it.

"I-I'm okay..." He wasn't. His voice was cracking and trembling but he couldn't help inching towards Derek. The alpha looked so feral, as if he couldn't quite remember that he was at least part human somewhere in there. Stiles was grateful for the rescue but he had never seen Derek act that animalistic before and he had to admit that it scared him a little. "Derek, are you-"

"What do you think that you're doing?!" Derek suddenly barked, making Stiles shrink back the small distance he had eased forward. He blinked, taken aback by the vehement anger in Derek's voice.

"What? I'm-"

"You shouldn't even be here!" Derek snarled, his fangs making the words a little garbled but not impossible to interpret. "I told you not to come! I told you to stay away, Stiles!"

Stiles felt a chill travel through him, leaving him cold and shivering.

"I was just-... I wanted to help-" he tried feebly.

"Help? You only got yourself hurt! We don't need help from humans – you're only in the way." Derek was apparently on a roll and Stiles couldn't find enough air to actually reply. It felt like he had been punched in the gut. "You should have stayed at Lydia's house! You're just a weak human!"

"Derek!" Scott's sudden bark made Stiles jump.

He had just been standing there staring at the alpha, barely able to comprehend what he was saying. Scott seemed furious though.

"Stay out of this, Scott," Derek warned, his face suddenly morphing back to normal, as if Scott's intervention had made him realize that he was still wolfed out.

His eyes remained the same burning red.

Stiles felt sick. He wasn't sure if it was the blood loss, the adrenaline wearing off or what Derek had said but he wanted to throw up. And everything hurt. He knew that he was just human and that it made him weaker but he hadn't been prepared to have it thrown at him like that; not even from Derek. Stiles was still confused and out of balance from the fight and really wasn't equipped to deal with this right now. He didn't understand why Derek was suddenly so angry.

"What? No! I won't stay out of it when you're jus-"

"It's okay, Scott," Stiles heard himself say, patting Scott's arm. "I get it."

Because in a sense he did. He was human. He was weak. He had gotten hurt. Derek wasn't lying and sometimes the truth hurt more than lies. Stiles _was_ in the way. The clench in his chest was almost crippling and was that tears burning behind his eyelids?

No, of course not.

Blood dripped from his fingertips, staining the leaves at his feet.

"Stiles-" Scott began but Stiles gritted his teeth and met Scott's gaze, silencing him with just a look.

"No, it's fine."

The _ache_ was slowly making room for _anger_ when his mind finally kicked into gear.

Even if Derek might be right Stiles had done more for the pack than could ever be expected of a human and Stiles wasn't going to let anyone belittle that – not even the alpha. Not considering how Stiles had literally saved his life when Derek had gone ahead and made a decision they had promised not to make. Stiles wasn't going to point that out right now though, just in case Scott had missed that detail. It was better if the pack never found out that Derek had tried to accept the deal behind their backs.

Derek was frowning but it wasn't his usual frown. This one looked blanker, as if there were things he was trying to hide or hold back. Stiles wasn't sure what it might mean and the anger made him less considerate than usual.

"I understand completely," he hissed, voice laced with venom. "I'll just head back and get myself out of the way, now that you're finally here to help, Derek."

It was rather low blow but Derek didn't as much as twitch.

"What? Head back?" Scott sounded confused.

"I need to go to the hospital," Stiles explained because he wasn't one to shrug of wounds as big as this one. He felt woozy enough as it was.

"I'll come with you," Scott offered without hesitation but Stiles shook his head.

"No, you keep searching for Jackson and Boyd. We can't afford to postpone it."

"You can't walk back all on your own! What if you bleed out?"

"Yes, Scott, I can and I will – it's not so bad that I'll bleed out, seriously." Stiles tried to sound as stern as possible but his voice was a little shaky.

It felt like his arm was pulsing and he didn't dare to touch it in fear of making it worse somehow. Driving to the hospital would prove an adventure but he would rather do it on his own than abort the search for Jackson and Boyd.

"Derek! You can't let him-"

"Derek doesn't care," Stiles interrupted, feeling numb and off kilter but trying to pretend that he didn't. "You heard him – I'm just in the way. It's better if I leave. Surely he thinks so too."

Derek didn't object. Stiles felt his heart sink and that sting behind his eyelids was back. He refused to succumb to it. Derek was an asshole. A stupid, arrogant asshole and Stiles was plenty useful.

How could they have come to this?

Just a day ago Stiles and Derek had been so in tuned and comfortable in each other's presence that people kept mistaking them for a couple. They had played footsie while eating breakfast, Derek had bought him a phone and they had seemed unable to keep their hands off each other.

And now this.

Stiles was reeling from the sudden shift. Did Derek hate him now? The thought was excruciatingly painful. Stiles didn't hate Derek. He liked Derek – a lot more than he should apparently.

Why had things turned out like this all of a sudden?

"But-"

"Scott, please. I'm begging you. Find Jackson and Boyd. I'll be fine on my own." If ordering him didn't work then the puppy eyes might. Scott wasn't nearly as immune against them as he should have been.

Blood was still tickling down Stiles' arm and he resolutely refused to look at it.

Scott swallowed but nodded eventually, even if it seemed to pain him immensely.

"You'll be careful, right?"

Stiles nodded, expression serious and grim. He didn't want Scott to worry.

"I'll be fine."

Liar.

"Text me when you get there, okay?" Scott pleaded and Stiles nodded again. He could do that.

He cast one quick glance in Derek's direction but the alpha's expression was completely blank and he made no move to add anything to the conversation. He just stood there, observing them like this was normal. Nothing special at all. Nothing to bother with.

Stiles wanted to throw up.

Without further ado he gave Scott a quick pat on the arm before turning to leave. He didn't say goodbye to either of them; Derek for one didn't deserve it.

Derek had no right to talk to him like that but the further Stiles stepped from the two werewolves the harder it was to hang on to the anger. All he was left with was the heartache.

Derek thought that he was in the way.

Stiles could hear Scott hiss something and Derek's muted, frustrated reply but he couldn't decipher the exact words. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to. He just kept walking. It would take him ages to reach his Jeep but he was pretty certain that he'd make it.

He slowly raised his hand, gripping just below where the claw marks ended, feeling the sting of the wounds even if he wasn't touching them directly. His dad was going to kill him.

Stiles took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other. He was exhausted, dizzy and that aching, hollow feeling in his chest wasn't exactly helping matters. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back the telltale blur of tears. He could do this.

It was a mantra he kept repeating to himself for the entire walk back to his Jeep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand some action for you.  
> I know that some of you might be angry at Derek - because he's an ass, yes - but try to remember that he's just afraid and has no idea how to handle it. The stupid alpha.
> 
> Next chapter will be one of those you've probably been looking forward to ever since this whole thing started. Yupp, people, it's time for the Sterek (-ish).
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is the awesomest beta ever!


	7. Epiphany

 

* * *

 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Stiles flinched, blinking owlishly at Mrs. McCall.

"Huh?" He was pretty certain that he had heard her question but he couldn't be quite sure. Checking was good.

He was sitting shirtless on an examination table, Mrs. McCall standing next to him. The painkillers she had given him were finally kicking in and things were a little wonkier than usual.

"I asked if you wanted to talk," she repeated while carefully cleaning the claw marks on his right arm. Her smile was soft but a worried crease could be seen between her eyebrows.

Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip.

"Talk about what?" Stiles would have squirmed if he would have thought it safe to do so. There was a lot he wanted to talk about but he had no idea if Mrs. McCall would want to listen to that. He wasn't sure if it was any of her business either.

"Well, how about why you came stumbling into the ER, dripping blood everywhere? Or why you won't let me fetch your dad? Or perhaps why you keep looking like someone just stomped all over your heart?" She shrugged good-naturedly but her gaze was keen, missing nothing. "I'm not picky."

Stiles cleared his throat and scratched his neck with his left hand.

"I... uh-... it's nothing."

Mrs. McCall raised an eyebrow, stopping momentarily in her attempts to patch him up.

"Really, Stiles? That's what you're going with? At least try to make it a little more convincing." She smiled softly, comfortingly. "You can't fool a mother."

A couple of weeks ago Stiles would have felt awkward with the care she was offering but now – after what they'd been through with the invading pack – he couldn't help feeling his throat seize up. He nodded mutely, not even sure what he was trying to say, but she seemed to understand it either way and moved effortlessly closer. He could only wrap one of his arms around her but he squeezed hard, burying his face against her neck, tendrils of her curly, black hair tickling his cheek. She hugged him back with reassuring confidence. It felt so incredibly good.

The journey back to his Jeep had been a challenge and it was a miracle that he hadn't been stopped on his way to the hospital, his driving so unstable that it had to have been considered a danger to anyone within a five mile radius. When he had reached the ER he had been close to fainting and he wasn't even sure how Mrs. McCall had found out that he was there; Stiles had been pretty certain that she was stationed somewhere else than the ER. But suddenly she was just there, steamrolling over everyone else and whisking him away to a quiet, bland room where she had set about to fix his injuries herself.

He was infinitely grateful for that since her familiar presence helped ease many of his fears and her hands had been gentle and caring when she had helped him peel off his bloodied t-shirt. She had assured him early on that he probably wouldn't need stitches – which was a great relief because needles were terrifying – but she had offered to consult a doctor if Stiles doubted her expertise. He didn't.

Mrs. McCall eventually eased back enough to be able to look him in the eyes again, her smile warm if a little pained. It was odd how it didn't seem like pity even if it would have if it was given by anyone else. Coming from her it just felt calming.

"So, let me hear it?" she urged gently before resuming cleaning and disinfecting his wounds. Stiles hissed at the slight sting but tried not to flinch and make it harder for her.

"I-... uh... well, Jackson and Boyd got taken by the other pack." Stiles swallowed, knowing how worried Mrs. McCall had to be without even glancing towards her face. "So we went out to look. But then Derek got ambushed by four werewolves and there was a struggle. Three of them ran off and Derek killed the fourth but-... I got hurt."

Mrs. McCall nodded to show that she was listening. Stiles bit back the bile at the back of his throat at the memory of that _sound_. The sound of Derek ripping into the other werewolf's throat.

He barely suppressed a shiver.

"So I decided to head back. Derek and Scott kept looking." He took a deep breath. "And I don't want to tell my dad until I'm patched up. I will tell him. I just... don't think that he needs to see all the blood. Better to come by when I feel better, you know?"

She smiled and picked up some gauze, making him raise his arms a little with a gentle tug. Stiles turned his head, looking down at the claw marks for the first time since he had entered the hospital.

They didn't look bad at all once they were clean. Or, well, that was a lie but he had imagined something much more gruesome when he had first seen all the blood. It would probably hurt like a bitch once the painkillers wore off but for now he felt comfortable and at ease, staring at his own mangled arm.

Those were some pretty heavy drugs.

Mrs. McCall started wrapping his arm, her movements efficient and smooth.

"And the third one?"

Stiles opted to play dumb.

"Third one?"

She rolled her eyes, smile unmistakably fond and warm.

"You look heartbroken, Stiles." A slight frown made itself known. "It's not that Lydia girl again, is it?"

Stiles blinked in surprise. Mrs. McCall knew about his crush on Lydia? Then again, who didn't? He had always been rather loud about it. The contrast between his crush on her and whatever it was he felt for Derek was actually quite fascinating, from an objective point of view. While he had proclaimed to the high heavens just how much he loved Lydia he was almost shy – defensive – about his thing with Derek. He wasn't sure if it meant anything but the difference was surprising.

He shook his head violently.

"Uh, no. It's not Lydia. It's someone else." Just seconds after having uttered it he wanted to take the words back. She didn't need to know that.

Mrs. McCall gave him a surprised look and a blush was suddenly burning across his cheeks.

"Someone else? Now you make me curious, Stiles. Who is it?" Her smile was teasing, almost suspiciously light.

He could tell that she wanted him to keep talking, probably so that he would remain calm and in the present. He wasn't sure if it he was in risk of slipping into shock this long after having received an injury but it was quite nice. If they had been talking about something else than his love life, that was.

"No, it's... complicated. I really shouldn't," he tried weakly.

Mrs. McCall fastened the bandage and gave him a scrutinizing look.

"It's not Allison."

It wasn't really a question but Stiles spluttered in surprise none the less.

"No! God, no! I mean, she's lovely and all, but she's still in love with Scott, whether they're together or not." He waved his hands, not even feeling the jolt of pain he was pretty sure he should have been experiencing considering the state of his right arm.

Mrs. McCall chuckled before peeling off her gloves.

"Well, judging on your reply I'd say it's someone you think is off limits. Your best friend's ex would definitely qualify." She threw away the gloves and considered him with that razor sharp gaze again. "It's a boy, isn't it?"

Stiles froze, eyes widening. Did everyone know about that? Or was she just guessing? Perhaps his dad had said something during one of their long talks. His dad was so suspecting something by now.

"Well," he croaked, "boy isn't exactly the term I'd use."

Oh God what an idiot he was. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? That was far too obvious and, sure enough, Mrs. McCall blinked in surprise, comprehension slowly dawning on her face. There weren't that many people around Stiles of the male gender that he would consider off limits and was too old to be called a boy.

"It's-..." She hesitated, clearly a little stunned. "Derek Hale?"

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath.

"Please don't tell my dad!" he nearly shouted, jumping down from the examination table in his panic, grabbing Mrs. McCall's arms. "He would freak and it's not like there's anything between Derek and I, not really. Derek's not interested anymore. It's all fine! I just-... it will pass. I promise. It will pass," he pleaded. Mrs. McCall looked completely taken aback.

She carefully raised her hands, laying them on his arms in turn, trying to make him release his grip on her.

"Stiles, it's okay. Breathe."

He bit his lip, trying not to think back on who had last told him that and how _different_ things had been then. Derek had sounded so caring and gentle.

Stiles slowly lowered his hands, staring forlornly at the floor.

"What do you mean 'not interested anymore'?"

His gaze snapped up, meeting hers. He hadn't even realized he had phrased it like that.

"Um... there was this moment – a really short moment – where it seemed like he might actually be interested back, but it passed. He went back to being rude and mean. He won't look at me anymore, shouted at me when I tried to help him and just-... he just stopped caring, I guess."

Mrs. McCall frowned before she quietly maneuvered him to sit down on the examination table again, hers hands lingering on his shoulders.

"Stiles, he didn't make you do something you didn't want to do, did he?"

He could understand her concern – she didn't know Derek and he seemed very threatening and menacing before you learned that he shunned social situations and was pretty darn awkward for being such a tough guy. The result was that Stiles burst out laughing.

Perhaps he could blame it on the meds.

"What? Derek? Dude, no. He's like _afraid_ of getting close to people. He would never do that. We didn't even kiss and he went running in the other direction so honestly, he's the one who thinks I'm scary, not the other way around." Stiles' smile faltered. "Yeah, good times..."

Mrs. McCall smiled but she looked a little worried.

"Stiles, don't let it get to you."

He snorted.

"What? That the guy I'm interested in can't even look at me and yells at me for saving his life? Yeah, can't figure how that would ever get to me," he muttered bitterly.

Mrs. McCall cuffed him softly on the head.

"Stop that. You're a good kid. Goofy and... weird, but good." She ran a hand over his head, motherly in that was he was slowly getting addicted to again. "If he doesn't want you then that's his loss. Eventually you'll find someone who will appreciate you for who you are – those are the keepers."

Stiles smirked.

"I bet you say that to all the heartbroken little boys."

"No, only the ones who deserve it."

She rubbed the back of his neck before she leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. Stiles stiffened and he could tell that she was as surprised by her own actions as he was. It had to have been an instinctive gesture of affection. He didn't want her to think that it was unwanted though – that was not why he froze – so he made sure to smile warmly towards her, meeting her gaze.

"Thanks, Mrs. McCall."

She huffed out a laugh.

"I think it's okay for you to call me Melissa by now," she pointed out and Stiles wasn't going to let that offer go to waste.

Sure, Mrs. McCall was the polite option but considering what they'd been through together – how she had helped him with his dad and everything in between – he'd rather take the familiarity her given name offered. His grin was wide enough to make his cheeks ache.

"Will do, Melissa."

"That's a good boy."

Stiles didn't even try to hide how much he appreciated her warmth.

 

 

Stiles didn't think that he would ever feel such instant fury at the mere sight of Derek's car. There weren't many black Camaros in Beacon Hills so of course he knew that it was Derek's. Why Derek had driven to Scott's house – last time Stiles saw the Camaro it had been parked on the trail leading into the woods, not here – was a mystery that Stiles didn't even want to know the answer to.

He'd rather not see Derek right now.

He had a slight suspicion that Scott might be to blame though, since Stiles had done as promised and texted to let him know that he was alright and also forwarded his plans to stop by Scott's house.

Stiles had opted to find himself a change of clothes before going to see his dad, not wanting to barge in with his blood stained t-shirt and jeans. Mrs. McCall had agreed only when he promised not to strain himself. Right now he regretted not going to Lydia's – he still had his backpack there and he was pretty certain there had to be at least one clean shirt left – or even his own house.

Anything that would keep him from seeing Derek. Stiles wasn't in the mood for more yelling, or whatever it was that Derek had planned for them.

After some serious deliberation with himself he decided against scratching Derek's stupid, shiny car but only because he knew that there'd be hell to pay if he actually went through with it. Instead he parked as far away as he possibly could and jumped out of his Jeep the second after he had turned off the ignition. The painkillers might be good at numbing the constant ache but he still felt a spike of pain in his ankle when he stomped towards the porch. The sound of a car door opening signaled that Derek was getting out as well.

"Stiles-"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear it!" Stiles snapped, waving his hand dismissively in Derek's general direction. He was pretty certain that he shouldn't get away with that blatant show of disrespect but Derek didn't say anything about it.

"Oh for-... Stiles, can you at least stop and listen?"

"Nope! No can do! I'm busy – I'm sure you know what that's like." Stiles climbed up the porch steps while digging out the keys from his pocket, the metal clinking against the small glass bottle with the scent neutralizer.

Perhaps he could use it and make sure that Derek couldn't find him again? It was an amusing thought until he remembered that it would affect the others too – like Scott – who would freak if he couldn't smell Stiles anymore. Bad plan.

He could hear that Derek was just a step behind him as he approached the front door but the alpha did nothing to physically stop him. So now they couldn't touch each other either? Good to know.

Stiles was resolutely not looking at Derek.

"I think we should talk."

Stiles snorted, not sure if Derek had ever said those words to a person before.

"Really? Talk? You and I? Man, I'd never thought I'd see the day." Sarcasm _was_ his only defense. That and anger. If he kept it up he might be able to hide all the hurt that was churning under the surface. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside without pause. "Sorry, Derek, but _I_ don't want to talk to _you_ right now. And since a conversation between us would require my participation I guess you're out of luck. Feel free to talk to the door though."

And with that he slammed said door in Derek's face, locking it again without hesitation.

Stupid werewolf alphas and their stupid emotions and stupid pretty faces.

Stiles ground his teeth all the way up to Scott's room, repeating over and over again inside his head what a complete dickhead Derek was. Now he wanted to talk? _Talk_? Derek didn't talk. He commanded, brooded and occasionally snarked. Also yelled, apparently, when he thought that Stiles had done something wrong – like save his life.

That hurt more than Stiles wanted to admit. He had only tried to help. He didn't want Derek to die and the bastard had turned around and started shouting at him? As if ignoring him wasn't enough?

Perhaps Stiles really was in the way?

He frowned to himself and barged into Scott's room.

"Stiles."

And recoiled backwards with a violent jerk, bumping into the door – luckily enough with his left shoulder, not right.

"Oh my GOD!" he practically shrieked, flailing around for the light switch. Once he got to it and the room flooded with light he wasn't the least bit surprised to find Derek standing there by the window looking like a creep. "For crying out loud! Derek! You have _got_ to stop doing that shit!"

"You locked the door," Derek pointed out with a completely straight face, as if that explained everything.

Stiles stared.

"Yes! And that usually means that I want you to _stay outside_! As in, do not enter the premises and certainly not through the windows! I should have you arrested for breaking and entering!"

"You won't."

"I might!" Stiles shot back, clearly demonstrating how well he could revert back into a five year old when needed. Derek didn't seem impressed.

"I think we should talk," Derek said again, in almost exactly the same tone as the first time.

"What? You rehearsed that or something?" Stiles sneered while marching over to the pile of clothes he kept inside Scott's room for convenience.

He still needed to change and was secretly glad that Derek seemed to have had time to get rid of some of the blood he had gotten on himself back in the woods. He would have looked like a deranged serial killer otherwise.

"What could you possibly want to talk about?"

"Scott thought that-"

"NO!" Stiles exclaimed as he spun on his heel, changing his direction and heading towards Derek instead. "Completely wrong way to start. I'm not going to have a talk with you if it's a talk Scott guilted you into." He pushed Derek towards the window. "Get out. You had your chance and you missed it. Out."

Big, warm hands gripped his wrist and all of a sudden it was like a switch had been flipped. It was like the entire day hadn't happened. Their gazes locked and God, it felt just like last night, when Stiles had lost it completely and almost kissed the stupid alpha. Something burning but definitely pleasant coiled in his gut and his pulse quickened. Derek's face was impassive but his eyes were saying so many things that Stiles couldn't even interpret them.

"Scott thought that I was unfair and too hard on you," Derek repeated with a patient, calm voice that spoke volumes about his sometimes remarkable self-restraint, "and I agree with him. I came to apologize."

Stiles felt his heart flutter and nervously licked his lips.

"Oh yeah?" His voice trembled even if he tried to come off as nonchalant. "For what part in particular? Where you yelled at me and called me practically useless – again? Or that one where I saved your life and you told me to fuck off? Or perhaps how you chose to be the martyr and have yourself killed without telling us about it? Or wait! Maybe you mean that you've been a complete ass and ignored me for a day?" Stiles made no move to pull out of Derek's grip but he could feel it loosening all the same. "Tell me, which one of those are you referring to?"

"All of them."

Well, at least he didn't hesitate. Stiles pursed his lips

"And what makes you think that I will forgive you for all of that shit?"

There. So swift that he almost missed it – a flair of desperation. Derek clamped down on it with almost depressing efficiency and something in his eyes shuttered off and closed. It was heartbreaking to watch. Stiles could see Derek swallow and suddenly he realized that Derek was actually scared; he was afraid that Stiles wouldn't forgive him.

Stiles felt his resolve weaken, but he wasn't going to just let Derek off the hook either.

"Seriously, Derek. What's the reason this time? You wanted to change the subject?" Stiles might have sounded a little more biting than intended but he was still mad – and rightfully so. "Okay, I'm a big boy so I can handle rejection, alright? But you had no reason to yell at me. I was just trying to help."

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place, Stiles," Derek grumbled while releasing Stiles' wrists, taking a step back as if to put some distance between them.

Good. It made it easier for Stiles to breathe.

"What? And let you die? For heaven's sake Derek! The pack needs you! They need an alpha! You can't just go around making decisions like that!" Stiles made a sweep with his arm.

Derek frowned.

"'They'? You don't count yourself as a part of the pack anymore?" Derek's voice was toneless, careful almost, and Stiles found himself faltering.

Of course he counted himself as a part of the pack. Why wouldn't he? But Derek had a point. When had Stiles stopped thinking of Derek as 'their alpha'? Stiles swallowed, trying to pretend that it didn't get to him as much as it actually did. He was a part of the pack and Derek was the alpha. Their alpha.

"You tell me," he forced out, going for defensive rather than answering the question. "You're the one who keep reminding me that I'm a weak human and just about an hour ago you told me that I was in the way. If I didn't know better I'd think that you're trying to kick me out."

Derek blinked and stared. He looked completely blank, not even a twitch, and what did that really mean? He didn't dare to say anything because Stiles was onto him?

Okay, that hurt.

Stiles sucked in a choked breath.

"Is that what this is about? You're kicking me out of the pack?" Stiles voice rose, going towards hysterical only because it was the only thing that could hide his panic. He didn't want to get kicked out.

Derek finally decided to join the land of the living and actually say something.

"What? No!" Derek sounded scandalized, which was pretty hilarious even in the current situation. "I'm not kicking you out of the pack! You're the last person I would kick out!"

"Then what is this about? Why are you suddenly so angry with me all the time? Why can't you look at me? Why did you yell at me in the woods like I-"

"Because I was scared!" Derek barked, effectively interrupting Stiles mid rant. Stiles froze entirely, as a matter of fact, and could only stare at Derek in incomprehension. "When you got hurt I panicked. I heard you scream and I just snapped. And I know that it happened because of me. So I got angry. At you for being there despite me telling you to stay away and at myself for letting you get hurt."

Stiles didn't know how to react. He had never heard Derek speak so openly – to admit to being weak or scared – and it was all because of Stiles? Something was stirring in his chest, something warm and pleasant, but he didn't dare to acknowledge it just yet. There were more pressing things to address.

"Derek, it wasn't your fault."

Derek pressed his lips together, clearly not agreeing. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Oh no, don't clam up on me now. I'm telling you Derek, it was my own damned fault for trying to scale Mount Werewolf, okay?" He inched closer and he could have sworn that Derek swayed towards him. Probably just Stiles' imagination. "You can't take the blame for everything, you know. Well, except when it's actually your fault."

Stiles gave him a pointed look.

Derek looked a little uncomfortable but manned up soon enough.

"I'm sorry." It was said through gritted teeth but it was an apology. Stiles couldn't help smiling as he made a gesture with his hand for Derek to carry on. The alpha wasn't getting out of this just yet. Derek sighed in that overdramatic way of his before pushing on: "For yelling. And for taking out my anger on you. And for getting you hurt and putting you in-"

"Whoa, whoa! Okay, that's enough. Really." Stiles held up his hands. "Only apologize for what you are responsible for, Derek."

Derek's expression soured.

"It shouldn't have happened."

"No," Stiles agreed, "it shouldn't have. So you better not try to get yourself killed again on my watch since I won't let it happen, alright? I'm still mad at you for that."

Derek pulled back an inch or two, his face morphing into that stone faced frown of his.

"It was a reasonable choice."

"Wha-? No! No, it wasn't!" Stiles flailed. "You dying is not a reasonable choice!"

"It's you or me, Stiles."

"And what? You'd rather it be you?" Stiles spat, so incredibly frustrated with the infuriating alpha.

"Yes."

Stiles fell short. Derek said it with such finality – such conviction – that Stiles felt his mouth go dry. Derek really was serious. Stiles wasn't equipped to deal with that.

"You-..." Stiles took a deep breath. "Derek, what's going on? Between you and me?"

That was not what Stiles had intended to say. It wasn't even close but once he had he didn't regret it. He really wanted to know. After a day of having Derek ignore him Stiles wanted answers, especially now when Derek seemed to be reverting back to that more approachable, lovable version of himself. And the things he said. Boy, the things he said. How could anyone say such things and still get to maintain that they didn't care? That there wasn't something between them worth to pursue?

Derek's face went blank. Again.

Stiles felt his temper rise.

"Oh no. Not this time, you jerk! You will tell me and not just hide behind that facade of yours!" Stiles stepped into Derek's personal space, poking his chest. "You can spew all kinds of confessions and revelations but you can't talk about that? Seriously, Derek! You wanted to talk and I say let's talk!"

Derek's jaw clenched and Stiles slapped away the hand that tried to grab his and make him stop poking Derek's chest.

"Not about that," Derek bit out.

That. Was. It.

"Okay, I'm done!" Stiles shouted, raising his hands to the heavens. "I am so fucking done with you and your 'one step forward, two steps back'-thing. I won't do it anymore."

Derek stiffened.

"Done?"

If Stiles hadn't been so upset he might have heard the frail nuance of fear in Derek's voice.

"Yes, I am done. I've been driving myself _nuts_ over this and you keep fighting me, every step of the way. I've been struggling – fucking struggling, Derek – to understand what's going on because I really want to figure this out. I really want this, Derek. All of it. But I can't have it when I don't know _what it is_. And you won't tell me." Stiles took a deep breath. "And if you don't want it then that's fine. I'll handle that. But at least _tell me_. Don't swing back and forth like this because I just can't take that. I can't take you being so nice to me and then have you turn on a dime and start yelling. I can't. I'm done. Utterly and completely done."

"Stiles, I-"

"I'm really sorry but I just can't keep doing this, okay? I'll back off. I'll make sure to keep a distance, I promise. I give up."

Fuck. Was that tears burning in his eyes?

Yupp. Definitely was.

Stiles thought that he was better than this.

"Stiles, will you just-"

Stiles was too afraid to hear the verdict.

"I mean, I really, really, _really_ want it but it's-"

Stiles choked on the last couple of words when Derek suddenly grabbed him, one hand on each side of Stiles' face, his own expression determined and fierce.

"I want it too, dammit, so for the love of God shut up!" Derek growled, voice low and menacing in a completely new way – one that send a shockwave of pleasure straight down Stiles' spine – and then, just like that, Derek kissed him.

Stiles' first thought was that this was certainly a much better way to make him shut up than any of the ones Derek had previously tried. His second thought was that this was too good to be true. But then again, as far as first kisses went it really wasn't that great so perhaps it was real. There was too much desperation, hesitation and fear; Stiles could feel it even with his limited experience. It was like Derek thought that this was the only kiss he'd get.

Talk about misconceptions.

Derek pulled back, his expression a chaotic mess of panic, vulnerability and hope. Stiles felt his breath catch when the weight of the moment hit him full force, his heart giving a painful jerk when he saw the first flicker of doubt in Derek's eyes. There shouldn't be any doubt. Not when it came to this.

Not ever.

"Oh no you don't – not this time," he whispered before surging forward again, meshing their lips together while wrapping his left arm around Derek's waist, pulling them close enough to quell whatever doubt Derek was feeling. He wanted this and he wasn't going to let go.

Stiles was still angry, sure, but he could prioritize. He might not get another chance at this if he screwed it up, but yell at Derek? He could do that whenever he wanted to.

No, this was definitely better than fighting right now.

His hand buried in Derek's shirt, holding him steady and really, who cared about first kisses anyway? The second was clearly the best one.

Derek's hands were warm against his cheeks, their bodies pressed together and Stiles' heart was pounding in his chest. The kiss deepened, strengthened, and Stiles lost track of everything but Derek. Derek's lips, his smell, his heartbeat and _God_ , his _tongue_. Stiles whimpered, pushing closer, yearning for more, wanting everything.

His right hand grappled for purchase, finding it on Derek's hip.

Derek's fingers cradled Stiles' neck, his grip gentle but urgent, carefully tilting Stiles' head to his liking. All the doubt was gone. There was only the burn between them – days of gathered yearning. It was breathtaking, terrifying, cathartic and wonderful, all at once. Neither of them held back.

Stiles could feel Derek's muscles shift under his left palm and taste the desperation slowly bleed into curiosity, delight and sheer want. It was so much better than Stiles had imagined, so much more.

Kissing Derek was like running through the woods during a thunderstorm – wild, exhilarating and pulse pounding. It was like a force of nature. Raw and unrefined but unstoppable. It felt like Stiles' chest would burst with all the emotions that rushed through him, his blood set alight by thousands of burning embers.

Stiles' right thumb slipped under the edge of Derek's t-shirt, finding smooth skin. Derek shivered against him, pulling a moan from Stiles that got smothered between their lips. Stiles was pretty certain that he was trembling and when he leaned closer to Derek the alpha matched it seamlessly. If Stiles had known that they would work this well together when they kissed he would have done it ages ago.

Everything felt in harmony – balanced – and Stiles couldn't for the life of him understand why he should ever stop kissing Derek. He might just not.

His hand wandered over Derek's back, reaching up to between his shoulder blades, smoothing over where he knew that the tattoo would be. Stiles didn't feel anything but the fabric of Derek's t-shirt but the sentiment was there. Derek growled, low in his throat, and Stiles wasn't sure if he had ever experienced anything hotter. He could feel it vibrate in Derek's chest and transfer to his own until he was thrumming with the pure force of it. Of _Derek_.

Stiles was breathless by the time they broke apart. They were still so close that Stiles' helpless little laugh – giddy and overjoyed – might as well have been Derek's. Stiles leaned his forehead against Derek's, keeping his arms wrapped around the alpha when the idiot made a move to pull further away. So not going to happen. Stiles wasn't letting him go.

Derek paused, looking into Stiles' eyes, searching for some kind of confirmation. Stiles wasn't sure what exactly but he had nothing to hide. He stared back, open and completely bare, holding his breath without really meaning to.

Then something seemed to ease within Derek. His shoulders relaxed, his thumb rubbed a soothing circle against Stiles' neck and then, all of a sudden, he gave a smile unlike any other Stiles had ever seen. It was relief and gentleness and warmth but above all else it was happiness. Derek looked so indescribably happy that Stiles' throat seized up. He could definitely fall in love with that smile – already had judging on how he wanted to squeeze the living daylight out of Derek and never let him smile any other kind of smile but that one.

This stupid, infuriating, stubborn, gorgeous and absolutely adorable man would be the death of him – but Stiles couldn't even find it within himself to care.

"My God. You and your face," he muttered before giving pulling Derek in for another deep, searing kiss. Derek obliged without a single complaint and Stiles could still feel Derek's smile against his lips.

His heart soared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... was it as good for you as it was for me? ;D
> 
> No, but seriously. FINALLY. THEY KISSED. GOSH. Stupid characters and their stupid drama! But we're finally there!  
> I hope you liked it anyway! The next couple of chapter will kick off the end of the entire fic! Booyah!
> 
> ALSO! Happy news people! [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) has done an AMAZING job beta'ing this fic and lately she's been reading like a woman possessed, which means that I can start uploading chapters more frequently! You heard me right!
> 
> **UPDATES WILL BE ON TUESDAYS _AND_ FRIDAYS FROM NOW ON! SO TWO CHAPTERS A WEEK, PEOPLE!**
> 
> Go give her some love!  
> 


	8. Confessions

 

* * *

 

"Okay, now you will talk to me or I swear to God, I will sic the pack on you."

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"You would sic the pack on me?"

Stiles nodded, face determined and not at all swayed by how close he and Derek were still standing. Or the two, three or several kisses they had shared. Stiles cuffed his alpha on the chest.

"I know how much it pains you, Sourwolf, but talking is necessary and long overdue in our case."

Derek's raised eyebrow turned into a frown. Stiles would never tell him but he looked particularly adorable when he did that. It was closer to a pout than a frown.

"Stop calling me that."

"It's a term of endearment, you goof," Stiles replied with a laugh, nuzzling against Derek's neck. The alpha seemed a little taken aback by the sign of affection and Stiles had to remind himself to take things easy. Derek wasn't exactly known for being soft on boundaries.

Well, he would start as soon as Derek stopped discreetly nuzzling back.

"Seriously though," Stiles mumbled, trying to gather enough motivation to pull back and actually start the conversation in question.

Derek didn't reply. He just trailed a gentle hand down Stiles' back and nudged Stiles' ear with his nose. Then he buried his face against Stiles' neck, taking a deep breath.

Huh. What?

Stiles was confused for a moment until he realized what that had to be about. Stiles had showered earlier that day, which would mean that his scent was back. Derek seemed to like that and while the alpha's stubble tickled a little Stiles liked it too. It felt really nice. And was really distracting.

Suspiciously distracting, in fact.

Stiles straightened and gave Derek a narrow glare, his alpha meeting it with innocence. Too bad that Derek never looked innocent except when he had something to hide.

"Oooh. You're a fast learner," Stiles half berated, half praised. "Naughty alpha. You will not distract me from talking."

"I'm not sure if anyone can manage that," Derek said with an eye roll, but he did ease back which was as good as an admission of guilt anyway. Stiles felt a twinge at how reluctant Derek was – it wasn't exactly comforting to know that Derek was so against talking – but they really needed to. Stiles couldn't ignore it any longer.

He cleared his throat and pulled out of Derek's loose embrace, missing the warmth already.

"I'm not asking for definitions or confessions-" although he wouldn't _mind_ "-I just want to know what the heck is going on." Stiles looked up at Derek, who seemed to grow increasingly uncomfortable. "Your behavior this past day for starters. Why on earth did you behave the way you did if you don't regret that almost-kiss?"

"Because I did regret it," Derek replied flatly, but something must have shown on Stiles' face because he hastened to add, "At the time. I regretted it at the time."

Stiles tried not to feel hurt.

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

"And that's why I don't want to talk!" Derek exclaimed, louder than Stiles had anticipated. Derek was usually so reserved. This must really be getting to him. "I'm not _good_ at talking, Stiles. I screw up."

"You don't have to be good at it, Derek. I'm just asking you a simple question."

Derek ran a hand through his hair in a sign of nerves that Stiles had never seen before from Derek. If he had had any less self-control Derek might even have started to pace.

"I did regret it," Derek began, haltingly, "because there were so many things that-... _still_ makes it a bad idea."

Well, Stiles had to agree with that. He had gone through a lot of them too, after all.

"Let me guess? You're a werewolf, older than me, a former murder suspect, violent and cranky and my dad would kill you?" Stiles raised a finger for each argument.

"For starters," Derek replied grumpily. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Alright, let's get this straight – this isn't just about you." Derek seemed confused by the statement so Stiles decided to clarify: "I have doubts too. I'm a weak human, I'm younger, a spastic menace, sarcastic and sasstastic and, well, my dad would still kill you." Stiles threw his arms open. "See? It's no different."

"I wouldn't exactly call you a menace."

Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"Why thank you, dear, and I wouldn't exactly call you a cranky asshole except for when, you know, I _do_. Let's not get stuck on complimenting each other," Stiles deadpanned. Derek's lips twitched – in a good way – and Stiles tried not to smirk. "Case in point – you're not the only one with doubts. I have them to."

Derek frowned.

"Then why bother with this?"

Stiles wanted to smack him. He settled for crossing his arms over his chest instead.

"Yes, why indeed?" Stiles drawled. "Why did you kiss me, Derek?"

Only then did Derek seem to realize that he had backed himself into a corner because he couldn't exactly hand over the blame and say that Stiles did it. They both knew that Derek had initiated the kiss.

"I-..." Derek's solution seemed to be to frown but it wasn't saying anything to Stiles at that moment. Derek swallowed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Because you said that you were done. That you'd give up. It... scared me. I don't want you to back off."

Stiles allowed a small smile as he carefully moved closer, letting his hand brush against Derek's arm.

"See? That wasn't so difficult," he whispered, nudging Derek's nose with his own to make the alpha – his alpha – look at him. "It means that we should bother with this. It means that it's okay that you're a werewolf while I'm human and it doesn't matter if you're older and I'm younger. It means that I'll put up with you being cranky if you can stand my snark. It means that I will forbid my dad from killing you and that I'll bodily step in between the two of you if I have to." Stiles met Derek's gaze, smiling softly. "It means that it's worth it, Derek."

Derek took a slow breath, never breaking eye contact. Stiles had no idea what was going on inside Derek's head but he was patiently waiting for his answer.

"I didn't look at you because I thought that it would make it easier if I didn't. I thought that it would make me less prone to maim Scott for interrupting – that it would make me stop wanting to go back to that moment and finish it, heedless of Scott barging in." Derek's voice was low and soft, as if he didn't quite dare to say the words out loud but they came pouring out of him anyway. Stiles could only stare, his heartbeat picking up its pace. "It didn't make it easier. But I kept telling myself that it was better this way – that it would be too much trouble. That I would be too much trouble. So I tried not to look, didn't want to talk and just... made sure to stay away. It didn't work."

Stiles smile was shaky, emotions bubbling up inside him when he leaned in, hiding his face against Derek's neck. That was one of the best confessions Stiles had ever heard. And Derek thought that he was bad with words. Damn him.

"It's my irresistible charm," Stiles hummed against Derek's neck, feeling him shudder. "And I'm glad it didn't work. I'm glad I'm too annoying to ignore."

He could feel Derek's silent chuckle as a vibration against his lips.

"Perhaps you are a menace after all," Derek pondered aloud. Stiles slapped his arm but couldn't help grinning. A grin that faded a moment later.

"Derek, I'm not actually in the way, am I?"

Derek stiffened somewhat and Stiles responded by doing the same. That didn't bode well. A heavy, comforting hand landed against his neck but Stiles still felt tense and wired. Derek thought that he was in the way?

"In a sense you are, but it's not because you're human," Derek said after a moment or two. "It's because when you are around I focus too much on you, even when I shouldn't. You're a distraction."

Stiles placed his palms against Derek's chest to push out of his reach. He knew that those words could be considered a compliment but they weren't to him. Being a distraction wasn't a good thing. Before Stiles had time to finish the movement Derek had gripped him tighter, careful not to touch his right arm.

"Stiles, it helps. More than you know." Stiles stilled, face still turned towards Derek's neck, out of view. "I'm not a good alpha, I know that. But when you're there you keep reminding me to think twice – you and Scott both, but mostly you."

Stiles took a deep breath, relaxing against Derek again.

"You make it sound like I'm an anchor."

Derek only shrugged, clearly not putting much thought into specific terminology.

"All I know is that I see more now. You distract me and make me see other things than I usually would and it's... as enlightening as it's infuriating. I hate it sometimes, but mostly I don't." Derek ran a thumb along Stiles' neck. "The only time it backfires is when you're in trouble. I can't see straight."

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's waist, surprised to find that they were _snuggling_. Derek had never seemed like a snuggler. But perhaps it was easier for Derek to keep talking when they weren't looking directly at each other. And Stiles wasn't exactly against it.

"Is that what happened out in the woods? You went pretty feral there for a moment."

Another shrug but Stiles was pretty certain that this one meant yes. That _sound_ Derek had made was still ringing in Stiles' ears. He had never heard anything like it and if that was how Derek reacted when Stiles got a scratch on his arm he didn't want to know what would happen if something worse ever occurred.

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes.

"Okay. Thank you for explaining."

Derek had said so much more than Stiles had hoped and he wasn't going to forget that. Derek was a very stoic and private person so to hear him share his thoughts to this extent was a privilege. Stiles wasn't even going to push for definitions at this point. He knew that Derek wouldn't be this open unless he was serious – unless he was willing to trust Stiles and give it a real shot. Stiles had no intention of being ungrateful.

There were still some things to consider though.

"I need to tell my dad about this."

Derek seemed a little anxious at that and Stiles pulled back enough to catch his eyes.

"I'm not going to hide it, Derek. I can't do that to him."

Derek shook his head.

"I wasn't going to ask you to."

"You were just mapping out the fastest escape route out of town?" Stiles guessed, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Something like that," Derek admitted, probably humoring Stiles more than anything. There wasn't much his dad could do to hurt Derek, at least not physically. "He won't like it."

"No," Stiles agreed, "he won't, at least not at first."

Derek pulled back a little further, his hand trailing along Stiles' left arm.

"Are you sure you want to do this? It's not going to be easy," Derek warned, sounding surprisingly mature with a stunning lack self-loathing. As if he just wanted to make sure, one last time, before they actually went through with it. But he wasn't trying to scare Stiles off either.

Stiles took a deep breath and grinned.

"I'm sure. Heck, I've been pining after you for a while now – it's high time I get something out of it." Stiles waggled his eyebrows and had Derek had an ounce less self-discipline he would probably have burst out laughing.

"I think I'm having second thoughts," Derek announced, raising his hands. Stiles could see the humor sparking in his eyes though so he just gripped Derek's shirt and tugged him closer.

"Too late, Mr Big Bad Alpha," Stiles sing-songed. "No take-backs."

This time Derek was the one who raised his hand, curled it around Stiles' neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Stiles went happily.

 

 

Derek parked the Camaro in front of the hospital and turned off the ignition. Stiles stared at the entrance as if it was the gates to hell itself.

"I'm going to die," Stiles stated ruefully.

Derek raised a dubious eyebrow.

"It's your dad, Stiles, not the Spanish Inquisition," Derek calmly pointed out – the jerk.

"But that's where you're wrong, Derek – my dad _is_ the Spanish Inquisition."

Derek shrugged.

"At least you know to expect it."

"No one expects the Spani-" Stiles fell silent mid quote, turning his head to look at Derek – who was clearly trying to hide a small, pleased smile. Stiles felt an involuntary grin break free. "One day I'm going to chain you to a chair and force you to admit exactly how many pop culture and geek references you actually know, swear to God."

"Good luck finding a chair and chains that will hold me," was Derek's only reply.

"I shall gracefully not comment on the double meaning of that glorious sentence." Stiles sank a little lower in his seat. "Seriously though, he will kill me."

"No, he won't."

Stiles looked at Derek, seeing the tense line of his shoulders. Perhaps it wasn't very nice of him to push his own worries onto Derek, who was technically worse off in this whole situation. He was the one who stood to face an assassination attempt if Stiles wasn't able to talk his dad down. He was actually pretty confident that he would be able to though. It wasn't like he and Derek had done anything illegal yet. The kisses had been strictly PG-13 and they were honestly too busy to really consider anything else. Stiles was still reeling from the fact that it was happening at all – to move onto heavier things was inconceivable.

After their conversation had come to its rather satisfying end they had been forced to return back to the present and the crisis at hand. Jackson and Boyd were still missing and Stiles needed to let his dad know that he was alive. And perhaps mention that other thing concerning Derek.

So Stiles had grabbed some clothes and changed – Derek having turned his back to him in the most adorable show of gentlemanly politeness Stiles had ever been the recipient of – before they headed back to the hospital. There had been a slight argument as to who was driving where and in the end Stiles had relented and accepted to be driven rather than drive himself. He was exhausted and his limbs were shaking ever so subtly when he wasn't focusing enough to keep them from it. So for the safety of others Stiles mournfully left his Jeep in the McCall driveway and joined Derek in the Camaro.

And that was where he found himself now, lingering not only because he feared facing his dad but because he didn't want to leave Derek just yet. Who knew when they would get another chance at some peace and quiet like this? Stiles was still fearing that it was just a prank somehow or maybe even a hallucination brought on by painkillers. It felt so unbelievable that Derek might actually be interested in _him_.

Stiles. Weird, flailing and sarcastic Stiles.

It felt unreal.

"You're thinking too much." Derek's voice was a low hum, soothing and calm.

"Says the master of brooding," Stiles teased but he couldn't help smiling. God. Derek made him smile so easily. "I'm just mentally preparing myself, that's all."

Derek turned his head to look out the driver's side window and Stiles could tell what he was going to say even before he uttered it.

"Stiles, if you're having secon-"

"No," Stiles interrupted firmly before reaching out, clasping his hand over Derek's that was still clutching the gear shift rather forcefully. "I'm not. It's just... he's been bugging me about it for days now and I'm not sure if he'll be relieved or just angry when I finally come clean."

Derek gave Stiles a confused look, frowning adorably.

"What do you mean 'been bugging you for days'? I thought this was a pretty new development."

Stiles chuckled.

"Yeah, but I have apparently been pretty transparent about it."

Derek tilted his head to the side, as if he was considering the statement.

"I guess we both were," was what he eventually said.

Stiles grinned.

"Yeah, I guess so."

It made him feel giddy for some reason that Derek was learning to talk more, even if it was baby steps most of the time.

Derek's hand shifted until their fingers were entwined, giving Stiles a reassuring squeeze.

"Go talk to your dad."

In the end it was only the thought of Jackson and Boyd, still alone and captured out there in the woods, that kept Stiles from selfishly demanding Derek stay with him. The pack needed their alpha and Stiles was too wounded to come with. He could barely walk in a straight line and his arm had begun to ache dully. He was better off at the hospital with his dad.

Stiles wanted to lean in for a goodbye kiss but there were people milling about the parking lot, so while they might not see their joined hands, hidden out of view between them, a kiss would have been too obvious. Stiles knew that Derek wasn't ready for that kind of public display of affection yet and Stiles wasn't entirely sure if he was either. They needed to take this in a pace they were both comfortable with and there were still some things to straighten out. The kisses would have to wait for more private moments – moments that Stiles was already looking forward too.

"Alright," he relented eventually, giving Derek's hand a quick squeeze. "You'll be careful, right? I still haven't forgiven you for trying to get yourself killed."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"I'll be fine. Now get out of the car before I throw you out head first."

"You say the sweetest things, angelface," Stiles replied with a grin before he let go of Derek's hand and climbed out of the car on unsteady legs. It was difficult to maneuver himself when he had one bad arm and a fucked up ankle. He took a deep breath and looked back at Derek. "Bring them back."

Derek's expression turned serious before he gave one firm, determined nod. Stiles smiled, weakly, before closing the car door and taking a few steps back.

If he lingered to watch Derek drive off, well, who could blame him?

 

 

Stiles' dad must have sensed that something big was going on when Stiles limped his way into the hospital room, mostly because he didn't ask about the obvious white bandage that peeked out from underneath Stiles' short sleeved shirt. He just calmly observed as Stiles came in, closed the door and brought a chair over to his dad's hospital bed. Stiles couldn't quite meet his eyes as he gingerly sat down, taking a slow, deep breath to calm his nerves.

First thing first.

"Jackson and Boyd got taken by the other pack." Stiles looked up, seeing the worry written clearly on his dad's face. "They're out searching for them now. I was too..." Stiles hesitated because he had kind of promised his dad not to go out into the woods. "But I got hurt when we got attacked by the other werewolves."

A slight lie perhaps but Stiles wasn't going to mention that Derek had been involved in why he got hurt, no matter how indirect it might be. He knew that his dad wouldn't see it as that, especially not considering the other piece of information Stiles was about to share.

"And?" his dad prompted, face set in a worried frown, his gaze firm.

Stiles wet his lips.

"I got scratches on my arm." Stiles gestured towards it. "But they don't need stitches so it could have been a lot worse. I'll be fine."

His dad closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I would believe you if it wasn't for the fact that it feels like you've got another injury every other time I see you," his dad said with a pained sigh. Stiles felt his heart clench.

"I know, Dad, and I'm sorry. But it's not permanent. We're... it's gonna be okay." Stiles swallowed, hearing his own lie so clearly that he knew that his dad wouldn't miss it either.

"What about tomorrow night?" His dad sounded furious – with right. It was the night of the full moon; the night Stiles was set to die.

Stiles had no idea how that would end now that Jackson and Boyd had been taken. Perhaps the deal was void because of the battle last night? Stiles didn't exactly dare to hope for that. He had a feeling that they would come for him just out of sheer bastardness.

"I don't know, Dad," Stiles replied truthfully. "I'm just... I haven't thought that much about it."

His dad gave him a serious, stern look.

"Stiles, you could just leave."

Stiles stiffened, gritting his teeth. He shook his head.

"No, I can't. And I don't want to." He met his dad's gaze.

"Stiles-"

"No, Dad. I'm sorry, but... just no. I won't. I _can't_." He straightened in his chair. "I'm not leaving."

His dad sighed, looking down at the starched sheets for a moment.

"I guess I knew that you would say that," his dad admitted eventually, not meeting Stiles' eyes.

Stiles took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his head. It was better to get it all out at once – rip it off like a band-aid. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, before he leaned forwards, resting his elbows against his knees and focusing his gaze on his dad.

"Dad. It think it's time that you ask that question now."

His dad looked up sharply and there was no need clarifying what question Stiles was talking about. They both knew, considering how many times Stiles had dodged it in the past. Stiles' dad seemed to take a strengthening breath before he did indeed ask, with much trepidation coloring his voice.

"What is really going on between you and Derek Hale?"

Stiles held his head high and went straight for the truth. He had promised himself that.

"We don't have a definition yet but it's something. And it's not platonic."

Stiles allowed his dad a moment to gather himself, calmly waiting for the protests he knew were bound to come.

Sure enough, it didn't take long at all.

"Stiles, you're just a teenager. Derek is-... he's so much older. And then there's the whole werewolf thing." His dad seemed to struggle for words and Stiles patiently let him release some of the pent up worry. It would make it easier to talk later. "Not to mention the fact that it's _illegal_ , Stiles. I'll have to arrest him! Statutory rape is-"

"Whoa! Wow! Stop!" Stiles flailed, wide-eyed. "Jesus, Dad! You are jumping way, _way_ ahead of things here! A lot further than me and Derek, in fact. Geez!"

His dad frowned.

"What? Really?" His dad sounded _surprised_.

Stiles stared.

" _Yes_! Dude, I barely got him to kiss me and you are discussing sex?" Stiles tried to deny that his cheeks were burning red. This was really not how he had expected this talk to go but, then again, it was just his luck. "We're not... uh... wow, this is awkward."

"You don't say," his dad muttered.

Stiles cleared his throat, feeling pretty mortified himself.

"It's not like that, dad. It's still new and honestly pretty scary in all kinds of ways and with the werewolves, Jackson and Boyd missing – did you really think that we'd have time for that?"

His dad didn't answer but the look he gave Stiles was a sort of confirmation that no, he didn't think that they would prioritize that over their friends. It was a relief to know that at least.

"You can relax, Dad." Stiles made sure to keep his voice calm and even. "I just wanted to let you know. I know you've been worried and I've been avoiding talking about it – mainly because I didn't know what it all meant. I was so scared and confused that I just couldn't handle talking to anyone about it." He was suddenly too nervous to look at his dad, choosing instead to stare down at his own hands. "But then things changed tonight. And I thought that you'd want to know – that I shouldn't hide it from you. Not when I finally have answers to give."

"Stiles..." His dad's tone made him look up and Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or sigh from relief when seeing the look on his dad's face. It was difficult to describe but there was something akin to understanding there. Perhaps not acceptance but understanding.

Stiles forced himself to keep going.

"And I know all about the arguments you might have against it; Derek even supplied some of his own."

His dad frowned.

"He did?"

Stiles gave him a lopsided smile and nodded.

"Dad, if there's one thing you need to know it's that Derek is about as scared of hurting me as you are of him hurting me. Heck, he might even be more scared than you are." It wasn't something Stiles had really given any thought but it rang true once he had said it. "He's harsh, rude and perhaps a little too violent but deep down he's just... terrified. Trust me when I say that he's well aware that I'm younger than him, and that I'm human. And he won't do anything to exploit me, seriously."

His dad seemed to hesitate.

"You're sure of that?"

Stiles nodded.

"Positive."

His dad pursed his lips and sighed, giving Stiles a defeated, wary look.

"I don't like it."

"I know, Dad. I always knew that you wouldn't. And I'm not asking you to blindly accept it." Stiles looked into his father's eyes, making sure to keep his own expression determined and above all else honest. This was all about honesty. "But I will ask you to at least give it a chance – give Derek a chance. It's not the fact that he's a guy that's the problem, right?"

Stiles knew that it wouldn't be but still felt a small knot of anxiety loosen as his dad shook his head.

"Of course not, Stiles."

"Good. Because I know that the other bits are scary – trust me, I've thought of them all myself – but I'm telling you, it's not as bad as it looks. Derek is a much more decent guy than you think. I know him, Dad, and I know that he's not doing this to use me or anything. I don't think that the thought would even cross his mind, to tell the truth." Stiles straightened waving his left hand. "I mean, just look at the guy! If he wanted to get laid he wouldn't exactly come to _me_ , would he?"

Okay, perhaps not the best thing to say but his dad seemed to understand the underlying message; Derek wouldn't bother with a teenage kid unless there was more than fleeting lust behind it. And while that was a rather scary thought too it was at least a better alternative than anything just involving sex.

Stiles wasn't even going to consider what sex with Derek would be like because he knew that he wouldn't be getting it any time soon and really, he wasn't that much of a masochist. There was a point where temptation turned into torture and this was probably the definition of it.

His dad sighed, looking tired, but he didn't seem all that displeased.

"I still don't like it," his dad repeated, making Stiles stiffen. "Still, I won't bring out the gun just yet. But!" his dad hastened to add at the wide grin that spread on Stiles' lips, raising a finger to make his point, "there are conditions."

Stiles nodded eagerly, having expected that much at least. His dad gave him a stern look.

"Absolutely no sex. You're under eighteen and until it's legal there will be no sex whatsoever. I don't want to have to arrest the guy – because trust me when I say that I will."

Stiles wasn't going to question that. It would be difficult to abstain from sex – extremely difficult, especially if the whole relationship thing lasted to when there was less imminent death and more private cozy time – but he would respect his dad's wishes. And, well, turning Derek into a criminal wasn't very nice either. So no sex. Stiles could accept that.

"You will also tell me if he misbehaves."

Stiles wrinkled his nose.

"What? Daaad! Come on! What kind of condition is that? I'm not going to come running to you and cry as soon as he says something nasty!" Mostly because Stiles would do a lot of running and crying in that case. Derek had a thing for being nasty.

"That's not what I'm saying, Stiles." His dad clearly wasn't joking, his gaze relentless. "If he does anything you don't like or feel uncomfortable with you _will_ tell me. Is that clear?"

Stiles faltered and allowed the indignation to slide off him. His dad was just worried and it was understandable that he wanted some ground rules to be put up. It wasn't even that unreasonable a request. If Derek did something really bad – although Stiles doubted that he would – then he would tell his dad. Fine. It was doable.

"Alright. I promise."

"Good." His dad nodded. "And, finally, he'll have to come by so I can talk to him under circumstances that does not involve him in handcuffs being accused of murder or anything even remotely related to werewolves."

Stiles snorted.

"What? Like family dinner?" He was being sarcastic but the look on his dad's face suggested otherwise. Stiles paled. "What? Really? You want him to come over for dinner?"

"Why not? It's a controlled situation in a relaxed home environment."

"Dad, you sound like you're reading from a manual on how to interrogate your children's possible love interests and leave all parties involved scarred for life. You just want to put him in a position where he can't avoid your questions."

"Good. Then my intentions are clear."

"You're not even going to deny it?" Stiles whined. "You're going to scare him off even faster than I will."

His dad scoffed.

"No, I won't. If he can't handle a peaceful dinner then you're better off without him anyway."

Stiles pressed his lips together and gave his dad an exasperated look.

"You are horrible."

"I can't say that it keeps me up at night," his dad replied with an easy shrug. Stiles groaned and slapped a hand over his face.

"This is never going to work. Derek is going to dump me before we even get started."

His dad remained silent and after a couple of seconds Stiles peeked out from between his fingers, looking curiously at his dad. He lowered his hand, just staring at the contemplative expression on his dad's face. They gazes met and Stiles held back an urge to squirm.

"Are you sure about this, Stiles?"

Stiles took a moment to really consider that – was he sure? – before he nodded.

"I am. I don't know exactly what 'this' is yet – neither does Derek, I'm willing to bet – but I like it and... he makes me smile, Dad," he said a little helplessly, hoping that it would make some kind of difference. "And yeah, I'll ask him to come for dinner if that's what you want. I want you to get to know him too. He's nicer than you think."

"So you keep saying." His dad shook his head but there was a small smile on his lips. "I get it, Stiles. And I'll give it a chance. Reluctantly."

Stiles smiled and felt a lot of the tension he had been carrying ease.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. I will still shoot him if he hurts you."

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"It won't kill him, Dad."

"No, but it will hurt like a bitch."

Stiles blanched for a moment before he burst out laughing, barely able to contain himself. His dad gave a small chuckle too.

"Just be careful, Stiles," his dad urged, reaching for Stiles' hand. Stiles took the offered hand without question and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I will, Dad. Don't worry." When it came to Derek at least.

That other problem, where Stiles might die the next night, well, that was another thing entirely and Stiles had very little influence over that. Still, he could appreciate what he had now and didn't want to bring it up and sour the mood.

So he just smiled towards his dad and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as 'The Talk-chapter'. Because there is a lot of talking. But it's needed, to straighten some things out. Aaaaand I love writing Stiles talking to his dad. Seriously. I love those two. Hope you like it!
> 
> Next chapter will be the beginning of the end, people, and just... please don't kill me x'D  
> I HAVE A PLAN! I PROMISE!
> 
> As always a huge thank you to my beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum)!


	9. Check

 

* * *

 

The current circumstances were probably the only thing that would make it okay for Stiles to sleep in one of the hospital chairs according to his dad. With the full moon just a day away and no werewolves there to protect him his dad clearly didn't want him to leave the hospital, even to sleep. Luckily enough for him Mrs. McCall managed to have a rather primitive but serviceable cot crammed into his dad's hospital room. It wasn't a long term solution but at least it was something.

The kink in Stiles' neck when he woke actually made him consider whether the chair might not have been favorable anyway but he kept that to himself. No need to be ungrateful.

Stiles and his dad ate a bland breakfast in companionable silence, neither of them really knowing what to talk about, mostly because they both wanted to avoid bringing up the wrong subjects and risk stepping on any toes. Stiles knew that his dad had had some more time to think and calm down from the bombshell that Stiles had dropped the night before, and while he was anxious to know if anything had changed he didn't dare to ask either. Right then not knowing felt like the safer option. His dad had given his reluctant okay for Stiles to pursue some kind of relationship-thing with Derek and that was really all Stiles needed to know.

Scott had kept in touch throughout the night via texts, even after Stiles had finally crashed from exhaustion. The pack and hunters had searched well into the early morning hours but made no progress except finding the now abandoned hideout. Their fears of the werewolf pack moving on had come true and they were suddenly back to square one when it came to locating and getting rid of them.

Stiles had told his dad the news through gritted teeth, both frustrated and scared. The chances of finding Jackson and Boyd seemed to decrease with each passing hour and Stiles' own life expectancy was diminishing just as rapidly.

Stiles didn't know the specifics when it came to betas switching packs but he hoped for Jackson and Boyd's sake that it couldn't be done forcibly. That would give them some more time because he had no doubt in his mind that they wouldn't break that easily if the other alpha had to convince them to do it out of their own choice. Jackson was too stubborn and Boyd too loyal.

His dad didn't seem to take the news very well and kept giving Stiles looks that were either too blank or too emotional. He was probably counting the hours and Stiles would be lying if he said that he wasn't doing the same. It settled like a heavy weight on his shoulders, seeping into his bones and setting his nerves on fire. It felt much like it had months ago, when the kanima incident had reached its peak; breathless with fear. Hyper vigilant, Ms. Morrell had called it.

He could die tonight. The full moon was here and not only had they been unable to chase the other pack out but two of their own had been captured. Stiles wasn't going to blame anyone but he'd be a liar if he didn't say that he was a little disappointed. He had honestly thought that they would pull it off. It surprised him that they hadn't. It grieved him that they hadn't.

And now he would pay for it.

Not that it was over yet. Scott had reported that all of them had gone home to sleep and while they now had no idea where the other pack had gone besides a weak trail that might be a decoy they were going to start searching again as soon as possible. Some hunters still had to stay behind and protect the town but the rest of them and what was left of the pack would keep searching.

Stiles was clearly not invited. Not this time. He was the one they were trying to save, just as much as Jackson and Boyd.

It felt horrible being some kind of damsel in distress but even without that aspect Stiles could admit that he was in no shape to stomp around in the woods. His right arm was not entirely out of commission but the wounds stung as soon as he moved too abruptly, stretching the skin in ways that wouldn't usually be an issue but were clearly out of question now.

Time seemed to pass slowly, mainly because Stiles had nothing to do and the TV didn't manage to catch his attention for more than a couple of minutes. His right leg was bouncing up and down more often than not and he might actually have permanently ruined the hem of his shirt by picking too much at the threads there. He couldn't find it within himself to care though.

The only bright moments were when the pack texted him. Scott and Erica did so often and every now and then Isaac added his two cents through one of Erica's. Lydia gave him a running commentary on the conversations she had with the hunter she had been paired with for the day – apparently not Allison for some reason – and Stiles suspected that it was as much for her sake as his.

She had to be worried sick by then.

He replied to them all, not having anything better to do since all of his books and research were at Lydia's house and he doubted that his dad would let him out of his sight at this point. The hours were slowly slipping through their fingers.

The only one who didn't check in was Derek. Even Allison had sent a quick good morning when they had started the search again and Stiles tried not to let that get to him. He told himself that he knew Derek by now and that there was a reason for the radio silence. Probably something like Derek being far too focused on tracking the other pack or alternatively feeling too guilty for it even having come to this. Perhaps even a combination of the two.

It still made Stiles feel a little lonelier during what might very well be his last day on earth.

It was around noon that Mr. Argent came by for a surprise visit. His dad took it in a stride even if it was obvious that he still hadn't forgiven Mr. Argent for keeping him in the dark when it came to werewolves. Stiles couldn't blame him and watched as the two gave each other somewhat measured but polite greetings. Stiles was willing to bet that they would become good friends or at least efficient allies before the whole ordeal was over. If they survived, that was.

Mr. Argent soon turned to Stiles with a sad, almost apologetic, smile.

"I really wished it wouldn't come to this."

Stiles licked his lips and was forced to clear his throat to get back his ability to speak.

"Yeah, I think we can all agree on that."

"Deaton sends his regards. He assured me that you would know what to do with it," Mr. Argent continued and held out the bag he had been carrying. Stiles hadn't really paid much attention to it, until it was handed over to him.

Inside was another bag containing a black powder that Stiles would recognize anywhere. He couldn't help smiling a little crookedly. Deaton never disappointed.

"Yeah, thanks." He nodded gratefully and wrapped his arms around the bag. The mountain ash would probably be his last defense against the werewolves that might come for him in a couple of hours.

"We have also decided to station hunters here at the hospital," Mr. Argent proceeded to explain, as much for Stiles' benefit as his dad's. "We can't be sure if the werewolves will attempt to sneak into town but if they do it's likely that they'll come here rather than anywhere else."

That they would do so in order to kill Stiles was left unsaid but all three of them could hear it in the deafening silence that followed Mr. Argent's words. Stiles took a shivering breath.

"The alpha might insist on doing the honors. She's a pretty normal looking woman, about Derek's age, a couple of inches shorter than me, round face, freckles, light brown hair and brown eyes. It's not much to go on, I know, but better than nothing, right?"

Mr. Argent nodded.

"It is. I will spread it to the other hunters. We'll do our outmost to keep both you and your dad safe – don't worry."

Stiles did worry though but decided not to show it and just nodded instead. His dad and Mr. Argent soon dove into a much more detailed conversation about where the hunters would be stationed, how all the practical details would be handled and what they could do to help. Stiles would usually have listened but he was feeling rather unfocused and dizzy. He had taken his Adderall but he assumed that impending doom was enough to rattle him beyond medicinal help.

He barely noticed when Mr. Argent made to leave and snapped out of his daze just in time to offer a hasty, confused goodbye before the man left. The look he had given Stiles before he exited had actually served to ease Stiles' mind a little but he soon shrunk back to wallow in his own misery.

He might die.

While he had expected the revelation to make him nervous and downright antsy he mostly felt defeated. Powerless. It wasn't over yet – he knew that – but he had a hard time remaining positive given the odds.

To fight his own depressive state of mind he soon decided to set up the mountain ash. After a brief discussion with his dad about the effects and characteristics of the sparkly dust they decided to ward the room only, not the whole hospital. While that might have been more optimal it would also shut out Stiles' pack and he didn't want that, not to mention that the black powder wasn't exactly inconspicuous. The room would have to do.

After that was done Stiles sank back down in his chair, staring off into the distance. He could feel his dad's worried looks but now more than ever they remained silent. Neither of them knew what to say even if they had a thousand things they wanted to share. The words just seemed to fail them.

Stiles was unsure how many minutes or hours passed – he declined lunch because he was fairly certain that he would just throw it all up again – but he spent most of them doing nothing at all. It was a little disheartening really that he would be so defeated and useless on the last day he might have a chance to make a difference. Instead of doing something productive with his last hours he was just sitting there, heart heavy and limbs unresponsive. He even stopped fidgeting after a while.

"Stiles."

His dad's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. To Stiles' surprise his dad was nodding towards the door and it took Stiles a moment to follow the instruction. Once he did he felt a rush of relief.

"Derek..."

Stiles was halfway across the room before he even reflected on it himself and it wasn't until he saw the slight flash of hesitation on Derek's face that he remembered that his dad was still there. Stiles swallowed and slowed his pace until he came to a gentle stop in front of Derek. Thanks to the mountain ash Derek could only hover just outside the room and Stiles was pretty certain that he wasn't just imagining that Derek lingered as close as he possibly could.

"Hale."

Stiles almost jumped at his dad's supposed greeting – there was a slight warning edge to it though that Stiles knew that Derek wouldn't miss.

"Sheriff Stilinski," Derek replied politely with a nod. Stiles could tell that Derek was uncomfortable but he doubted that his dad knew Derek well enough to see it. Which might have been a good thing.

"Hey," Stiles breathed, reaching out a hand over the line of mountain ash and brushing his fingers against Derek's. He knew that he couldn't do much else considering their audience but at least it was something – some kind of contact. "Any news?"

Stiles doubted it but he would at least try to remain positive. He still felt a painful little twinge when Derek shook his head.

"We're switching locations, heading north."

And Derek had decided to spare the time to come by the hospital. Stiles blinked away the slight blurriness that suddenly assaulted his eyes. He knew that Jackson and Boyd was higher priority at the moment, simply because there wasn't much to do for Stiles. He could only wait. Which was a lot worse in a sense but Derek should have been out there with the others, searching.

Not that Stiles would send him off just yet; not when he finally got to see him.

His heart did a funny little dance when Derek slowly twined their fingers together and Stiles inched closer, knowing that his dad wouldn't quite see it if he made sure to stand in the way. It wasn't that he wanted to hide it but he knew that his dad could need some more time to get used to the idea before he was confronted with what this sort-of-relationship between Stiles and Derek would entail. Holding hands might be tame but still somewhat of a wake-up call.

The small twitch at the corner of Derek's lips was all Stiles needed to break out in a huge grin. Oh God, he was such a sap. Good thing that Derek seemed to be right there with him even if he didn't show it as openly to the untrained eye. Stiles was pretty certain that he would stand there and just stare at Derek like an idiot unless he made an actual effort to keep up a conversation. And it wasn't like talking was difficult for him.

"So, Deaton gave me some mountain ash."

Well, Stiles had made no promises about the _quality_ of his words, just that he would string them together into a sentence.

Derek seemed amused.

"Yes, I noticed." Of course he must have, considering that he couldn't step inside the room and the line of black ash across the doorway. Derek's gaze flickered over towards Stiles' dad but returned to Stiles soon enough. "You will stay here."

It wasn't quite a question and not really an order either. Perhaps to call it a very forceful request would be the most appropriate. It made Stiles smile either way.

"Yes, I will stay safe within the supernatural barrier, Derek. Don't worry." This was rapidly turning into the corniest conversation Stiles had ever had in his entire life and there had been a few. He couldn't quite find it within himself to care though.

Except for his dad, perhaps, who had to sit there and witness it, unable to step out of the room considering the cast on his leg and still somewhat aching ribs. Then again, Stiles didn't feel guilty enough to actually _stop_.

There seemed to be more Derek wanted to say but that might just have been Stiles' wishful thinking. He doubted that Derek would, even if he wanted to or not. Derek wasn't a talker.

Trust Derek to prove him at least a little wrong.

"I'll come back later," Derek said in a low voice. "Later tonight, before the full moon."

Stiles blinked in surprise, not only because of the words themselves but because they were said in such earnest. It took a while before they really filtered through Stiles' brain but when they finally did he shook his head.

"No, Derek, it's okay. You should be out there looking for Jackson and Boyd."

Derek wouldn't even be able to come inside for heaven's sake, which they were both reminded off when Derek made an aborted move, as if he was trying to either step closer or pull Stiles to him. He could do neither of it. Stiles momentarily considered stepping outside because really, he didn't _have_ to stay inside in fear of werewolves – Derek was there to protect him – but he could feel his dad's gaze boring into the back of his head. Staying where he was had less to do with werewolves and more to do with his dad not trusting Stiles and Derek to be together out of his sight yet.

Stiles felt annoyingly like a 19th century maiden in that moment.

To calm some of the growing frustration Stiles could see in Derek's expression he placed his free hand on Derek's chest, light enough not to seem overly handsy for the benefit of his dad. The fact that Stiles could still feel Derek's warmth seep into his palm – which only made him tempted to slide his hand all over whatever parts of Derek he could reach – well, that was another thing entirely.

"Seriously, Derek, you don't have to come here and babysit me." The disapproving look Derek gave him made Stiles' mouth go dry. "O-okay. Perhaps you do," he amended quickly. He couldn't deny that it actually made him relax to know that Derek would be there with him.

"Just stay here until then," Derek urged, his eyes saying so much more than his words did.

Stay here. Stay safe. Don't get hurt. Don't die. Not now.

Stiles felt that it was suddenly very hard to breathe and fuck it, he didn't give a damn about what his dad might see. This could be Stiles' last day on earth and he wasn't going to pass up on getting more closeness and kisses.

His free hand curled boldly behind Derek's neck before he surged forward, knowing that he couldn't pull Derek closer. They were just about equally tall but since Stiles didn't want to risk accidentally disrupting the line of black dust in the doorway he had to lean forward and trust that Derek would brace for his weight. Derek did so easily but not without a low noise of surprise.

But that could have been more because of the kiss.

Stiles untangled their hands to get a better grip around Derek's neck while Derek – the adorable goof – seemed to hesitate between responding and pushing Stiles away for the sake of the probably stunned sheriff staring at them. Stiles didn't care and when he pushed just a little closer, trying to reach just a little better, Derek's indecision gave way for reciprocation.

Helpful hands supported Stiles' elbows, making the angle a little easier and for a blissful moment Stiles lost himself completely in the kiss. The only thing that mattered was Derek with his stupidly pretty face, tasty lips and coarse, prickly stubble and Stiles didn't know if he had ever been happier.

He didn't even care when he heard a pointed cough behind him. His dad could wait.

"Oh for the love of-"

Stiles couldn't help grinning against Derek's lips and pulled back just enough to offer another kiss shortly after the first. He felt breathless and maybe a little overwhelmed. This was his now. At least for another couple of hours – and if he survived even longer than that – this was his.

Derek didn't quite smile, probably too aware of Stiles' dad's disapproval, but there was something soft in his eyes. Something that made Stiles' chest hurt with too many emotions to count. Why couldn't they have realized all of this sooner? Why now, when there were no guarantees that they would get to keep it? Stiles bit back all the anger and frustration, refusing to let it ruin the moment.

"You better get going."

Funny how that sounded like Stiles meant the complete opposite.

Derek leaned his forehead against Stiles', his eyes closing. Stiles' did the same without him even thinking of it.

"I'll come back later."

Stiles nodded mutely, swallowing harshly to force back all the things he wanted to say. It wasn't like it was a goodbye. Not really. They would get through this. They'd both survive.

Of course they would.

"You be careful," Stiles mumbled as he pulled back, just enough to be able to look Derek in the eyes again. His alpha gave a small nod.

"Stay safe."

It was Stiles' turn to nod. He pressed their lips together in one more kiss before he began to straighten, Derek's hands slipping away when Stiles slowly eased out of his reach. Stiles tried not to let that imagery linger in his mind.

It wasn't goodbye. It wasn't. Stiles refused to admit that it was.

Derek didn't say anything else. He just offered Stiles' dad one short nod and Stiles a lingering look before he turned and left. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from calling Derek back to him.

It wasn't goodbye.

Derek would come back.

When Stiles turned and briefly met his dad's gaze he didn't even try to decipher it. He knew that his dad couldn't be happy about what he had witnessed but right at that moment Stiles didn't care. He just numbly moved to sit in his chair again, keeping his face turned away from his dad, just in case his eyes looked as threateningly close to tears as they felt. His dad didn't say anything.

Stiles took a trembling breath and put his hand over his mouth, blinking rapidly a couple of times.

It wasn't goodbye. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

It wasn't goodbye.

 

 

The hours crawled by and Stiles didn't know if he wanted it to just be over or make time go even slower. He couldn't exactly say that he felt safe even with the mountain ash and the fact that Jackson and Boyd hadn't been found yet only served to make him even testier. He tried not to show it for his dad's sake but Stiles doubted that he was able to hide anything from his dad's keen gaze.

They still didn't talk. At this point it wasn't because they couldn't find the words, more like fear of what else they would also be reveal once they opened their mouths to speak – what emotions they wouldn't be able to contain. Stiles was pretty certain that he preferred the silence.

Only he really didn't.

It was just in the corner of his eye but Stiles still caught his dad's movements as he glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall just by the door. Stiles swallowed but didn't dare to ask what that was about. He was better off not knowing.

"When is Melissa coming by?" Stiles asked instead, fumbling for some other subject. He wanted to hear his dad's voice just a couple of times more, to better commit it to memory.

His dad cleared his throat.

"Her shift ended half an hour ago. She should be here any minute," his dad replied, voice a little hoarser than usual. The sun would set in about an hour and Stiles tried not to think about what would be moving out there once the dark had fallen.

Melissa would be joining them to wait out the full moon inside the warded hospital room, simply because they didn't want her out there alone. To the other nurses and doctors it would just seem like she was spending her free time with two people she had grown increasingly close to ever since Stiles' dad got admitted to the hospital. Stiles had no idea if she could be a possible target but they weren't going to take any chances.

The conversation seemed to die before it even began and Stiles slumped lower in his chair, trying not to let the tension in the air get to him. Derek was probably not going to show for another hour or two and even when he did Stiles wouldn't be able to be particularly close to him what with the mountain ash. It would be frustrating but at least he'd be there, at the hospital with them.

The hunters were probably setting up shop by then and Stiles just couldn't understand why he couldn't relax. He was as safe as he could possibly get. What could go wrong?

Lots, was the answer.

Each passing minute served to make him even more high-strung but it wasn't until he caught his dad's frown that he realized that something really was off. Stiles glanced at the clock by the door, feeling his stomach bottom out when he noticed that it had been half an hour since he asked about Melissa. It was now an hour after her shift ended.

Stiles squirmed in his seat but told himself that it was nothing. She might have gotten pulled into something just before signing off and that had delayed her. That happened at hospitals. Or perhaps one of her colleagues was feeling particularly chatty? The fact that Melissa wouldn't leave them waiting like that considering what night it was barely registered with Stiles because he didn't want it to. There had to be a completely harmless explanation to where she had gone. The frustrating part was that Stiles couldn't even go out and look. He couldn't leave the room.

"Dad, you have the numbers to the hunters stationed at the hospital, right?" Stiles asked after a moment. If he couldn't search for Melissa then they could.

His dad looked up, a worried frown marring his face, but he handed over the numbers he had gotten from Chris Argent earlier that day.

Stiles didn't recognize any of the names so he just picked the first of the three, not really caring who he got a hold of. He tried not to wrinkle the small note beyond recognition while he waited for the call to connect.

After the first two rings he wasn't worried. Not even by the fourth. By the seventh he was ready to freak out. He hastily hung up and dialed the second number, making absolutely sure that he was typing it right, just in case. His dad threw him an alarmed look but Stiles ignored it, instead listening intently to the hollow beeps echoing from his phone.

No answer.

Okay, now he was definitely ready to freak out.

His hands were shaking when he desperately dialed the last number, heart hammering in his chest. Mr. Argent wouldn't give them wrong numbers and the hunters would answer even if an unknown caller tried to reach them, right?

Stiles nearly shouted in relief when the call connected and an actual voice answered him.

"Hello?" a woman greeted, somewhat suspiciously.

Stiles didn't really care beyond the fact that she _answered_.

"Oh thank God! I was driving myself nuts!" he breathed, rubbing a hand over his eyes and trying to calm his careening heartbeat.

"This is Stiles, isn't it?" the woman asked, something akin to amusement in her voice.

"Uh... yeah." It was odd how all the hunters seemed to know him while he didn't know them.

"We met in the woods a while back."

Stiles blinked. That time when he had shielded Derek with his own body to save the already dying werewolf from certain death. It felt like months ago when it was in fact just two weeks.

"Oh. Right. Okay, that's nice." It really wasn't. Stiles still felt nauseous when thinking back on that night. He cleared his throat and nodded towards his dad to let him know that things were okay again. "Hey, you guys are stationed at the hospital, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, I just wanted to ask if you could go look for a Melissa McCall? She works as a nurse here and was supposed to come stay with us for the full moon party here in my dad's hospital room, but she hasn't showed. I tried to call the other two numbers Mr. Argent left but there was no reply and-

" _What_?" she barked so sharply that Stiles shut his mouth with a clack. "They checked in five minutes ago. They have their phones with them."

Stiles suddenly felt faint.

"W-what?"

"Listen, we don't have much time. I need to hang up an-"

A crackle, then the call disconnected. Stiles sat frozen in his chair, feeling the dread rise like a tidal wave. No. This wasn't happening.

He lowered his phone, staring at it like it would be able to give him answers.

It didn't.

"Stiles?" His dad was tense. Worried.

"Something's wrong," Stiles heard himself say but it sounded hollow in his ears.

He sucked in a deep breath before bolting for the open doorway, ignoring his dad's surprised shout. But Stiles had no intention of running off; he just wanted to look outside.

The corridor was empty and quiet, no movement or sign of approaching danger. Stiles still felt a chill travel down his spine. Something was so, so wrong.

"Dad, I'm going to call Derek, you call Mr. Argent. The hunters aren't answering, Melissa still isn't here and I think that-"

He was interrupted by his phone's shrill ringtone. Stiles stared at it, then his dad, who was already halfway through the motion of dialing Mr. Argent's number. The hunter he had just spoken to was calling back. He hurried to accept it.

"Hey! What happened? The call-"

"I really wouldn't do that if I were you."

God no. Stiles knew that voice.

His dad must have seen the fear in his eyes because he froze too.

"Do what?" Stiles croaked.

The she-alpha laughed – a pearly, beautiful laugh – and Stiles felt his insides twist. What had happened to the hunter? Was she okay?

"Call for help, of course."

Right. Super hearing. She was obviously at the hospital if she had the huntress' phone and must have heard what Stiles said to his dad. Stiles tried to push back the suffocating panic that threatened to swallow him completely.

"You can't stop us." Stiles wet his lips and made a gesture for his dad to continue with what he was doing. They had two phones. They could do this. She still couldn't get to them.

"Oh, but I can."

Stiles was just about to ask her how she intended to do that when there was a shuffling sound followed by a breathless plea.

"Stiles, don't listen to her, I'm fine."

Stiles made a choked noise at the back of his throat, feeling his chest constrict.

"Melissa-" He wasn't sure if he had ever sounded so much like a lost, motherless little boy as he did in that moment. "Melissa! Please, don't-"

"Don't call for help."

It was an order – one Stiles couldn't afford to ignore. He hastily waved for his dad to stop, knowing that he would. He must understand what was at stake even from just hearing Stiles' side of the conversation.

Stiles had no idea how the alpha had pulled all of this off but he felt relentless panic claw at what little hope he had left. God, the panic. Stiles tried to remember how to breathe while he rubbed a hand over his head, not even moving to stop his dad when he started getting out of the hospital bed.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked, even if he knew the answer.

"Well, you of course," the she-alpha replied with another laugh, her voice soon turning into a pleased purr. "I hear that you are a little bit more important than you first let on, sweetheart."

Stiles couldn't keep up, his mind chugging at half pace to keep himself from spiraling straight into a panic attack. Breathe – keep breathing – a voice sounding suspiciously like Derek's supplied inside Stiles' head. He gasped for air.

"What? I don't-... what?"

His hand went to rub against his temple instead, pacing back and forth while his dad tried to find his balance without much else than the bed to lean on. The leg cast and still healing ribs wasn't making it easy.

"Out in the woods? Last night? My betas reported something quite interesting," the she-alpha was toying with him, he knew that. He was sick with worry and she just wanted to prolong his suffering. "They said that that alpha of yours went feral the moment you got hurt. Now, I know a thing or two about being a werewolf and let's just say that you don't do that unless you really care about someone."

Stiles swallowed, forcing himself to calm down. Tears were burning in his eyes.

"So?" he managed to say, voice hoarse and cracking.

"It means that you just got even more valuable to me, sweetheart." Her voice turned into a low hiss that caused static to crackle over the phone. "I can smell him on you."

This wasn't happening. Fuck it all.

Stiles swallowed, already knowing what he would have to do. His dad wouldn't forgive him and Derek, God – Derek would be livid. But what other option was there?

"You want to trade her for me." It wasn't even a question.

"Sharp little human you are," the she-alpha purred. "You come to me and I'll let her go."

Stiles gritted his teeth, holding up a hand to stop his dad's protests.

"No," he bit out fiercely. There was a moment's pause and he knew that he was playing with fire but he wasn't going to be fooled just because he was terrified. "You come here, to my dad's hospital room, and you bring Melissa. I'm not making any deals until I know that she's okay."

"Bold. I like that." There was a pleased little sigh. "Very well. See you in a few."

The she-alpha hung up and Stiles nearly sank to the floor as his knees threatened to give out.

"Stiles, you aren't making any deal at all!" his dad barked and Stiles turned to look at him, pretty certain that his face had to be deathly pale. "I'm not letting you-"

"Dad!" Stiles was shaking with fear but he still managed to shout loud enough to interrupt whatever his dad had intended to say, pocketing his phone out of pure reflex. "You don't get it. Melissa means nothing to her. She'll kill Melissa. She really, really will. And then she'll just find some other human to use as leverage against us. She'll go through them one after another until I give in."

His dad looked pained and tried clumsily to reach him.

"Stiles, I can't let you."

"I know." Stiles forced his legs to work until he could wrap his arms around his dad and hide his face against his neck as if he was five years old again, his dad squeezing back just as hard. "I know, Dad. But she wants me and she wants me alive. I'm leverage against Derek. She won't kill me." He was pretty certain that she wouldn't at least and if she intended to give him the bite just to mess with Derek even more, well, that was still better than Melissa dying. "She wants him to surrender and I'm her safest bet. She'll kill Melissa but she'll let me live."

"You should listen to your son, sheriff."

Stiles jumped, whirling around to face the door again. The angle made it difficult to see both of them clearly due to the doorpost but that was unmistakably the alpha. And Melissa. Wonderful, motherly and irreplaceable Melissa, with a set of claws clutching her vulnerable throat.

"Stiles, don't listen to her," Melissa gasped, barely able to breathe around the she-alpha's grip. Stiles couldn't for the life of him understand how she could be so incredibly brave in that moment. "Don't do it. It's okay."

Stiles shook his head, eyes blurry.

"No, Melissa, it isn't." Stiles struggled out of his dad's grip, ignoring whatever protests his actions resulted in. "I'll do it. As long as you promise not to hurt Melissa or my dad."

"I'm not sure if you're in any position to be making demands but I'll humor you. Mostly because you're so cute. I promise that I won't hurt her or your dad."

The she-alpha raised her free hand, curling her finger in a gesture for Stiles to come closer. If he had had any other option he might have tried that but Danny still had the gun with wolfsbane bullets and Stiles had nothing that could save Melissa – except offering himself in exchange.

Stiles back was stiff as he quickly made his way across the room, not daring to look back at his dad. He could hear him well enough.

"Stiles! STILES! Get back-... Stiles!"

"I'm sorry dad." Stiles' voice was toneless even in his own ears but he didn't stop, knowing that his dad couldn't follow. It was mean but necessary.

Once he reached the line of mountain ash he stopped, meeting the she-alpha's gaze, unable to keep himself from swallowing. His throat was too dry to work though and he almost choked instead. Melissa's panicked expression did nothing to ease his anxiety and she kept shaking her head, even if it made the claws on her throat dent the skin.

Stiles took a deep breath, tuning out his dad's loud shouts and stepped over the line. One step. Two steps. The she-alpha backed away, clearly wise enough not to let Melissa go when Stiles could still dive back into the room if he was quick enough. It wasn't until he was well outside the room that Melissa was released and to his surprise she headed for him, not the safety of the mountain ash.

She hugged him, so desperately, and Stiles had a moment to revel in her smell and softness before he felt claws close around his neck. He hastily pushed Melissa back, out of his own and the she-alpha's reach. A moment later he was pulled back, nearly stumbling into the she-alpha as she gripped him much like she had done to Melissa.

"Stiles! No!" Melissa was crying, her beautiful face twisted in agony.

Stiles wanted to comfort her but knew that he couldn't.

"Call the others, Melissa," he urged. She still hadn't stepped inside the safety of the hospital room. "Please, just call the others. They'll find me. Don't worry."

He could tell clear as day that she would worry no matter what he said but she nodded gravely before slowly, reluctantly, backing away until she was behind the line of black dust. Her gaze never left Stiles, tears glistening in her eyes.

He allowed himself a breath of relief before the she-alpha dragged him backwards. Melissa made a move as if to follow but Stiles shook his head sharply, ignoring the tear that trickled down his cheek.

He wasn't supposed to cry.

"It will be fine." he lied, feeling the claws lingering on his neck grip tighter.

He wasn't completely beaten though. He still had the herb balls in his pocket, having moved the bag from his other pair of jeans when he changed the other night. And there had to be other people left at the hospital even if this particular corridor seemed deserted – it always had. He just needed to make a little noise and someone was bound to find him and perhaps offer enough of a distraction for him to be able to reach for his pocket. He didn't know how effective the small balls would be against an alpha but it was better than just giving up.

All of that – all of his plans – turned useless the moment they were out of view from Melissa and the she-alpha tilted her head up to whisper in Stiles' ear.

"I think this means I win."

Stiles opened his mouth to reply but he never had the time to. From one moment to the next everything just went black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love cliff hangers. You might not but I do xD  
> According to my beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) this was apparently the worst cliff hanger EVER. Or something. But at least you only have to wait until Tuesday to get another chapter ;)
> 
> The next one is actually one of my absolute favourite chapters in this whole fanfic. It's the interlude from Derek's point of view and I LOVED writing it.  
> ... because OF COURSE I'm mean enough to put his interlude just after something like this. I'm trying to make you all as emotionally compromised as I possibly can! *evil cackle*


	10. Interlude

 

* * *

 

Derek wasn't going to lie – he had hated Stiles at first. Genuinely hated him. Derek had come back to Beacon Hills to search for Laura only to find her murdered, ripped in half and dumped in the woods like garbage. To say that he wasn't in the mood for distractions was an understatement. The anger, fear and shame that had been burning inside him ever since the fire had flared brighter than ever and he just _didn't care_ about the wisecracking teenager.

Derek had dismissed him as inconsequential.

Scott was different. Scott was innocent and naïve and perhaps just a little bit of _home_. Not that Derek would ever admit that he felt lonely. It would be to accept defeat – to make it too real. No, he would just live with it, never voice it out loud or seek to change it. It was his punishment.

For the longest time Stiles had just been a necessary evil tagging along in Scott's wake. Derek didn't know himself why he had been so eager to help Scott there at the beginning. He had tried to tell himself that he was just using him for his own revenge , but really, once Kate had captured him because he decided to save Scott instead even Derek knew that it was a lie.

Derek could be pretty daft when he wanted to be.

Helping Scott became a knee jerk reaction he couldn't control and eventually that bled over to include Stiles too. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with Scott. All Derek knew was that while he still despised Stiles and everything he stood for – every sarcastic, biting comment that Derek couldn't quite match – he somehow became _important_.

Derek had never wanted it. He hadn't welcomed it. He had been focused on Laura – the grief – and helping Scott find and kill the alpha. Those had been his priorities. Simple. But Stiles was always there in the background, the loudest and most annoying distraction Derek had ever encountered in his entire life. Everything with Stiles rubbed him the wrong way.

The way he always talked and caused noise even when he wasn't, constantly fidgeting or drumming his fingers or humming out of tune. Always _something_. And the way he smelled, like teenage hormones, sweat and something else, something that threw Derek completely at the beginning. Adderall, he realized later. But by then the damage was already done – he already knew Stiles' scent, able to pick up on it long before he could others'.

Even the way Stiles talked, hands cutting through the air, body jerking and moving in time with his words, was annoying. And the touching. The poking and prodding and back slapping with accompanied chuckles and grins. Derek didn't like the touching except for the times when he might have, just a little. It seemed to come so effortlessly to Stiles – a hand on a shoulder, a playful nudge – Derek kind of envied that. Stiles was so at ease, ready to act and react without a moment's notice. He was spastic and uncoordinated, chronically ungraceful and perhaps even a little clumsy but still so _fluent_. It was such a contrast to Derek himself that he just didn't know how to handle it.

Stiles was like the game he would never be able to catch simply because he felt dumb and lumbering in comparison. This infuriating teenager was out of Derek's reach, impossible to pin down.

Derek hated it.

Not even Stiles' heartbeat was normal, out of synch and impossible to decipher. No matter how hard Derek tried he couldn't read it. He couldn't understand what made it dip or beat faster. Stiles wasn't like anyone else Derek had ever met. Perhaps that was why he had never really been able to ignore him as well as he pretended that he could. Stiles was something else, not fitting into any category Derek usually filed people under.

Stiles wasn't an ally nor an enemy, he was heroic but selfish, he wasn't a threat but antagonized Derek at every opportunity he got. Derek snapped back more often than not, unable to help himself. Stiles never backed down. He straightened his back and stepped up, toe to toe with Derek, despite being human and clearly weaker. He didn't bend, even when he was scared, and he never, ever gave up.

It was frustrating but Derek would be lying if he didn't admit that sometimes he pushed just to feel Stiles push back. Sometimes he sought the conflicts just because he could – just because he knew that Stiles would answer. After a while he found himself craving it. Craving the challenge the gangly, sarcastic teenager never seemed to pass up on. No one had ever been so unafraid of Derek while still being terrified of him.

It was intoxicating.

So perhaps it was expected that Stiles soon evolved beyond being nothing but an extension of Scott into something of his own. He was still so new – so unlike anything Derek had seen – that there was no way to catalogue him. Eventually Derek resorted to gathering words; snippets and scattered impressions that he hoped would slowly but surely come to describe what Stiles was to him.

_Inconsequential_. Not important. Not a werewolf, not useful. Later retracted.

_Distracting_. Loud and obnoxious, never silent and never weak. Derek hated him for it, hated how he was never quite able to look away. How his eyes were inevitably drawn towards Stiles as soon as he talked and sometimes when he didn't.

_Infuriating_. Refused to take no for an answer. Never gave up. Never accepted defeat. Only rarely agreeing to compromises. Seemed incapable of shutting his damned mouth – literally.

_Verbal_. Every conversation was like a battle, a struggle not to let Stiles chip away at his pride – his walls – while simultaneously trying to shove back when Stiles pushed him into corners. Stiles knew words, so many words, and Derek replied with his own when he could.

_Clever_. Razor-sharp wit, good instincts and a quick mind. Could have been an outstanding werewolf if Derek had been able to picture Stiles as anything but the imperfectly perfect being he already was.

_Self-sacrificing_. Stiles always put other people first, without even hesitating. He sacrificed his own needs and goals for others, never asking for anything in return. Derek felt humbled to be included, if only occasionally, in the group of people Stiles would do this for. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

_Contradictory_. So unbelievably stupid while still being so incredibly clever. Stiles called himself a coward but acted like a hero. Irreplaceable, yet defined himself as worthless. None of it made any sense to Derek.

_Reliable_. Always loyal, even to those who might not deserve it. Derek could still feel his own confusion and that rebellious flare of hope he had experienced when Stiles went back for him in the pool. Stiles should have left him. Stiles didn't.

_Overwhelming_. Unstoppable and terrifying. Nothing Derek did seemed to keep him away. Stiles just nestled closer, in under his skin and straight into his every thought. It had caused Derek's wolf to pace restlessly from nerves.

_Vulnerable_. Derek hated when Stiles was in pain. The hollow ache in Derek's chest – always present, ever since the fire – got overrun by a new, sharp and biting agony whenever he heard that panicked blip in Stiles' heartbeat and it nearly suffocated him. He hated it. He wanted to make it go away; wanted to erase the pain entirely. He couldn't stand seeing Stiles in pain.

_Worthy_. When Stiles began to protect the pack like he was a wolf born to do nothing else – to shelter it and challenge it to make it better – Derek also knew that Stiles was making _him_ better. He drove Derek to become a better alpha. Always challenging, never backing down. Derek's wolf started growling words he tried to ignore. A litany of _finally, he's worthy, need him, protect him, he's perfect. We need him. Make him ours._ Always ending with one final word that made Derek's entire core hum: _Mate._ He ignored it all.

_Trustworthy_. It came easier than it should have, without Derek even trying. He realized it only when Stiles asked for it, when it became clear that it was already a done deal – Stiles already had it. Derek couldn't pinpoint when it had happened but it was there all the same. He trusted Stiles.

_Taboo_. Too young, too frail, too human, too good, too perfect. Derek didn't deserve him. Derek would never deserve him. Derek had to stay away. His wolf whined pathetically.

_Precious_. Derek was weak, couldn't deny Stiles anything. Couldn't look into those stupidly big, gorgeous eyes and say no. So he said yes, against better knowledge. He said yes because Stiles was precious and shouldn't be hurt and Derek, despite his scars and ugliness, made Stiles smile. Derek couldn't understand why Stiles would care for someone so broken and disfigured like himself but he let him. He surrendered and let Stiles have his way. It seemed to be a trend.

_Home_. His voice. His smell. His gestures and his touch. His laughter. His heartbeat. His wit. His sarcasm. His sharpness and frailty. His weaknesses and strengths. His care and his trust. Derek knew it all. Each and every nuance, catalogued with his words, like priceless little gems – all of that was Stiles. He was like no one before him and like nothing that would ever come again. To Derek he was stability and chaos, care and anger, softness and biting coldness. He was stupid and wonderful and genial and frustrating and everything possibly in between. But most of all he was home. Derek's wolf howled in delight.

_Finally_.

Derek hadn't planned it. He had only tried to understand why all that noise, all those strange smells and invasive touches didn't make him recoil – they should have. Instead he drew closer and closer until it was too late to back away. He hadn't even known exactly when it happened. He was just suddenly offering his jacket in some pathetic effort to comfort, went out of his way to make it easier for Stiles – even if they complicated things for himself – and just like that it was just _there_.

At first it had terrified him. He had tried to break loose, to push away, snarling and snapping like a cornered animal. It had only served to make Stiles, and by association himself, unhappy. Derek could handle his own hurt but Stiles' was so much more tangible, impossible to ignore. He could smell it. He had felt guilty but was unable to apologize.

Only that wasn't true. He could apologize and had. And little by little, for every one of those smiles that Stiles gave him, Derek felt the anger, guilt and shame burn just a little less violently. Laura would probably have been proud over that.

Derek had never been one for change. He liked constants and certainty. He liked simplicity and straightforwardness but was definitely pretty good at ignoring the obvious even when it was right there in front of him. It was a skill too, he guessed. This change – the one Stiles brought with him – was both something Derek feared and welcomed.

No one would ever have to remind him of the wrongs he had committed. He had them all ingrained in his memory and he never once doubted that he deserved punishment for them. He deserved the loneliness, to have people betray and hurt him – like he had hurt those he loved – and he routinely pushed people away, both out of fear and consideration for their safety. He was injured, still trying to lick his festering wounds, and he just couldn't allow himself to be happy.

But then there was Stiles. He complicated everything, turned it all upside down and Derek found himself yearning and hoping for the first time in years. He wasn't sure if he deserved it. At first he had been positive that he didn't and distanced himself from it all.

It wasn't difficult, not with his self-control. Just a barked insult here, a condescending glare there. In the beginning it had worked, but then Stiles showed once again that he was one of a kind by just _not getting the hint_.

He persisted. Derek pushed and pushed but Stiles just returned it with equal force.

It was then that Derek had taken his eyes off his own misery for a moment and realized that maybe, just maybe, Stiles was doing it on purpose. Of course Derek had always known that Stiles did it on purpose – no one submitted themselves to all that trouble without it being some kind of conscious choice – but he suddenly started wondering about the _reason_. Why was Stiles standing so close? Why did he keep touching Derek? Why did his lips quirk in that amused way when he talked to Derek and Derek only?

Derek still didn't know if he deserved it – the smiles and laughs – but it became obvious that it really wasn't about him. It wasn't even about Stiles. It was about _them_.

The first time he had thought of them as one unit his wolf had rumbled contentedly.

What he appreciated with the change was that he felt less out of pace with the rest of the world, as if he was slowly finding his equilibrium. It was different from an anchor. The anchor kept him from wolfing out but without balance he never knew where to direct his efforts. That was easier now. He had the pack. He still wasn't good at it, reminded daily that becoming an alpha had never been his intended fate, but he was getting better. He could feel it in the bonds tying them together and it wasn't until he had stopped tugging that he had realized that he was the one disrupting them the most.

Derek suddenly dared to dream for a real pack again.

And that scared him, on so many levels. His first thought had been that he would lose them too, just like he had lost his family. His second had been that he would drive them away. His third had been that he might still not deserve the comfort and stability a pack offered. For days his thoughts had been spinning, only for it to come to a screeching halt last night when Stiles and Scott found him in the woods, ready to let himself be killed for his pack.

In retrospect Derek knew that it had been selfish. He had told himself that it was for the others and while that wasn't a lie it wasn't the whole truth either. It would solve the problem but he would also not have to be there to pick up the pieces. He had tried to run from it all – from the other pack, his failures as an alpha and his fear of letting Stiles close. But of course Stiles hadn't let him.

And that, more than anything, had made him finally realize that none of it was about him. He was so stuck in his own patterns and spirals of grief that he couldn't see beyond them, until Stiles finally made him – always Stiles.

Whether Derek deserved his pack or not was unimportant. The only thing that mattered was that he had them and that he better make the most of it. His pain was not a condition for someone else's happiness and if he kept trying to weight one aspect of his life against another he would run himself to the ground. The fact that he had Stiles there to remind him not to fall back into his old ways helped.

Derek had never really allowed himself to believe that he would care for anyone after what he had gone through with Kate. He had told himself that he didn't trust anyone and while brief encounters for the sake of sating urges was fine he refused to even consider something deeper than that. He didn't want it. Didn't need it. Except when he did, but those whispers became easier and easier to ignore as he grew harsher, colder and bitter. Trust Stiles to completely disregard that too.

Derek still didn't dare to define what they had – he was too much of a coward for that – but they seemed to share an understanding that it was long term. Or at least would be after the whole crisis was over. Derek knew that there would come a time where he would be forced to face it, but chose to live in blissful ignorance for now. Because it really was blissful.

He felt like an idiot for wanting to smile just because he caught sight of Stiles and constantly had to fight his urges to touch. It wasn't like him. It was foreign, unsettling and scary. If Laura had been there she would have congratulated him for finally having reached enough emotional maturity to care for another being without them being family. And he would have scoffed but secretly been a little delighted.

Laura would probably have liked Stiles, if only for how he drove Derek up the wall and made him unable to keep his usually impassive, stoic expressions. She would definitely have loved that.

It still hurt to think about her. He missed his entire family of course but Laura had been different. They had been The Survivors – them against the world. Until Uncle Peter had ruined it. Derek was still so confused over that. Peter had killed Laura and he should kill Peter for it – again.

He really should, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. He kept putting it off and before he knew it Peter had made himself comfortable as some sort of annoying mascot no one wanted and tried their best not to acknowledge. Derek could drive him away, knowing full well that the funny if a bit nasty Uncle Peter he had known when he was younger was gone forever. This Peter would betray them without batting an eyelash. Derek still let him be, because he was family.

He could admit that it was also because they had more pressing matters to attend to. If Peter wanted to sell them out to the other pack he would have done so already and Derek really didn't have the luxury of worrying about more than one threat right now. The fact that the werewolves would be coming for Stiles was bad enough.

Derek wished that there was more he could do – ways for him to keep Stiles safe. Derek wasn't prepared to even start considering what it would do to him if he lost Stiles now. He had finally gotten over his own stupidity and dared to take a chance. Couldn't he at least get to have it for more than a day before it slipped between his fingers?

At least Derek hoped so, as he made his way over to the Camaro, prepared to head back to the hospital. The sun had set just minutes ago and the drive would take about half an hour, but he would still be there well in time before the full moon. He was a little worried about how Erica and Jackson would handle it – they still didn't have as much control over their wolves as the others – but he assumed that Erica would keep focused due to Boyd's disappearance and Jackson, wherever he was, would probably be able to curb it if necessary.

Derek was halfway through the drive when his phone rang. His first thought was that it was Stiles, but when he retrieved it the name flashing across the display was Scott. Derek frowned. He had left Scott and the others in the woods just twenty minutes ago. They couldn't have found Jackson and Boyd that quickly.

He raised the phone to his ear.

"Yes?"

A squirm in Derek's gut told him that something was wrong. He didn't know what but he could almost taste it in the air.

Scott remained silent. Derek could hear him breathe and his slightly elevated heartbeat but Scott didn't say anything. Derek gripped the steering wheel tighter with his other hand, dividing his attention between the road and the call.

"Scott? What is it?" He tried to remain patient, he really did, but that feeling of unease wouldn't go away and he felt the wolf rise until it was just below the surface, agitated and unsettled.

Scott made a choked off sound that could have been intended as words but Derek couldn't interpret them. Scott made another attempt without Derek prompting him to do so.

"They took him."

Derek froze, for one brief moment floating between denial and comprehension before it came crashing down on him. There was only one person Scott could be talking about.

" _What_?" Derek barked, feeling the surge of power within when his wolf reared its head, reacting immediately against the threat, even if it wasn't in his physical reach.

"From the hospital. The alpha showed up, took out the hunters – one of them is in critical condition – and used my mom as leverage to make Stiles come with her," Scott said in a rush. Whether it was because of his alpha demanding it or Scott finally having gotten past his brief moment of silence was difficult to tell. "My mom called. They're-... they don't know what to do."

Derek was speechless. He quickly pulled over to the side of the road when he realized that he had reflexively pushed down harder on the gas and while every fiber in his being told him to speed over to the hospital he had no intention of being in a car crash tonight.

His hand gripped the steering wheel so hard it almost started giving away.

"When?" Derek barely recognized his own voice. It was a deep, furious rumble, his wolf apparently adding its own two cents.

"A couple of minutes ago."

Derek wondered if this was how Stiles felt when he had one of those panic attacks of his. Derek knew that he had to breathe in order to survive but he just couldn't. Something was keeping him from it and the more he struggled the harder it got.

A couple of minutes. Derek was just a couple of minutes away. Ten, if he hurried. He should have been there. He had promised Stiles that he would come by, that he would protect him. But he was too late. Stiles had been taken. Derek didn't know if the feeling stirring within him was anger, panic or fear – it burned like wildfire all the same.

Stiles could be dead.

The other alpha took him and might have killed him the same moment she stepped outside the hospital.

Stiles could be dead.

God, it hurt.

He knew that he was wolfing out. He didn't even have to look in the rear view mirror. He could feel it. Damn it. He wasn't an inexperienced little pup. He should have better control over his emotions than this. Then again, this concerned Stiles, who had proven to be an exception to every rule Derek had ever made.

Stiles didn't deserve this. Derek might but Stiles definitely didn't.

Derek wanted to hit something. He wanted to rip through whatever was in reach, tear it into small insignificant pieces and pour out all of his anger. It wasn't fair. His fury was churning, spreading inside of him, but underneath all of that there was also a trembling, terrifying sense of dread. Of loss. He knew that he might have lost Stiles. He could already feel the hole in his heart widen, making room for another person he would never, ever see again and only remember as a distant, heartbreaking memory. They lingered there – all of them, pale and lifeless – as a constant reminder of his failures and wrongdoings. Of how he should have saved them.

"I'm heading over there," Scott announced and Derek wasn't even going to argue. He couldn't quite bring himself to care.

Derek's control was slipping. He could feel it clear as day but the panic of that realization was somehow muted. He should have been horrified. Derek put a lot of pride in his control. It was what kept him from going berserk – it was what made him get out of bed in the morning. And now it was slipping. A part of him wanted to blame Stiles. It was Stiles fault that he was vulnerable like this, but how could he hate something he cherished so much? Derek was never going to allow himself to see Stiles as a burden. Not even if Stiles made him weak. Stiles had earned that much.

He took a deep breath, forcing back the wolf that wanted to lash out at anything and everything within reach. Derek couldn't lose it like that, not right now. He wasn't that kind of monster. He was better than that.

"I'll meet you there." Derek couldn't think of replying with anything else. Holding back the anger was a struggle. Someone had taken Stiles. Someone had taken Stiles _from him_. He wanted to maim and torture and _kill_. He wanted to see someone bleed.

He wanted revenge.

He cut the call without saying goodbye, knowing that Scott would want to hang up anyway. They were both more focused on getting to the hospital than exchange pleasantries. Derek pulled the Camaro back onto the road and broke about a dozen traffic laws on his way to the hospital but he barely reflected on it. He had done worse before and would probably continue to do so until the day he died. It wasn't long since Stiles had disappeared and it should be easy to track him.

As soon as he had parked in front of the hospital Derek got to work on trying to find the trail of Stiles' scent. He could do it so easily by then that it was almost second nature. He didn't bother to go inside and talk to the sheriff, Scott's mother or check on the presumably decked hunters – he had already heard the basics and that was enough for him.

Finding Stiles was his priority.

Derek didn't know if the other alpha wanted to kill or turn Stiles but both were terrifying scenarios. If he had to choose it would naturally be the latter since it would mean that Stiles would at least still be alive, but he knew that Stiles didn't want it.

Stiles spent his time with overpowered supernatural creatures but had no desire to become one himself. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why Derek secretly respected him so much. While Derek considered the bite to be a gift – he was a born werewolf and had never known or wanted anything else – he had to admit that it took strength of character not to want all that power for selfish reasons. Stiles outright refused it. He treasured being human and eventually Derek had learned to do so as well.

Not all were meant to be werewolves. Stiles was meant to be human. Painfully, gloriously human.

It didn't take long before Derek felt an involuntary frown appear. Something was off. He could smell lingering traces of Stiles alright but they were just about as faint as the ones still present inside the Camaro – about a day old. He circled the hospital but apart from one single spike just next to one of the back exits there were no trails leaving the hospital. It was as if Stiles had just vanished into thin air. The lack of blood was however somewhat calming.

Derek's wolf clawed at his patience, tried to urge him into a frenzy – to run for the woods and search for Stiles with all means available. But Derek knew that wouldn't be the most effective method. He needed to think. He needed to be reasonable.

Too bad that neither of those were his strong suits. He usually relied on Stiles for that nowadays.

The irony made something in his chest twist.

Derek was just about to turn and head back to the main entrance when something caught his eye. It was barely noticeable – just a sprinkle of something light against the dark straws of grass – but as far as Derek was concerned everything could be a clue. He was hanging on to his sensibilities by a thread and he needed something – anything – to focus his efforts on.

As he crouched next to the spot he realized that it was some kind of powder but it looked harmless. Didn't smell much of anything, which was odd.

Derek stiffened.

Those words were far too familiar. He reached out, catching some of it on his fingertips. It shouldn't be completely odorless to him – few things were. It had to be that scent neutralizer for humans that Stiles had been talking about. That explained why he couldn't find any tracks. Stiles must have had some on him and the other alpha had used it to make tracking impossible.

Derek wanted to howl in fury.

Derek straightened and paced back and forth a couple of steps, pushing back the fear and anger that started to rise again. That complicated things. It complicated them a great deal. Jackson and Boyd's trails were so weakened that they were impossible to follow and Derek didn't know the other alpha well enough to pin her scent down. Stiles' trail – the one he would recognize anywhere – was completely wiped out. Derek couldn't smell him. At all.

Stiles _had_ vanished into thin air.

"Derek."

His head snapped up, glaring at whoever had spoken. It took Derek a moment too long to realize that it was Scott, standing a couple of paces away, panting lightly. He must have run the entire way from the woods. Derek gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax, detecting the slight hesitation in Scott's posture and movements. Scott shouldn't be the target of Derek's frustration.

"His trail is gone."

Scott blinked and stepped closer, bewildered.

"What do you mean _gone_?"

Derek rubbed a hand over his face, feeling edgy and out of synch. As if he was running one step behind everything else and just couldn't catch up. Stiles could be dead.

"I mean that it's gone. Stiles, Danny and Lydia did this... thing, a powder that would mask their scents from werewolves. Intended as protection."

Scott swallowed.

"But-... the other alpha made him use it? So that we would lose his scent?" Scott asked, sounding so lost and fragile that Derek had to hold back an urge to comfort him somehow. Another thing that Derek wasn't good at and relied on Stiles to handle.

"It seems that way."

Scott ran his hands through his hair, the distress written clearly across his face. Derek didn't know how to make it better. He could barely handle his own. At least the use of the scent neutralizer meant that the other alpha had intentions to keep Stiles alive for a while longer, but it was impossible to know for exactly how long and for what purpose.

"I'm going to go inside and talk to my mom... and Stiles' dad," Scott said, his words much more abrupt than usual. Derek just nodded, seeing no reason to keep Scott from doing that. There was no trail to follow and Scott might be able to get some extra information about what had happened.

"Are the hunters coming too?" Derek asked. When he had left them they were still out searching for Jackson and Boyd with the rest of his pack.

"No, they decided that they'll do more good out there," Scott replied. "They-... know that some of their own got hurt but Allison said that they will have to let the doctors handle that. They won't make a difference whether they're here or there, not for the hunters. But they can still help Jackson and Boyd. And Stiles. We'll find them. All three of them."

Derek didn't trust the hunters one bit – it was too ingrained in him not to, after years as a werewolf and Kate's betrayal – but he had to admit that they could come in handy. He might even stretch far enough to say that he was grateful. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

"Are you gonna stay out here?" Scott's question seemed to be more of an invitation to join him than to ask whether Derek intended to stay. Derek nodded anyway. He didn't want to follow inside and face Sheriff Stilinski. Derek was pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to do that. Not with Stiles missing. Not when he was already blaming himself for it and knew that Stiles' father would do it too.

Scott hesitated and Derek sighed impatiently.

"Go, Scott."

He couldn't find the energy to care. Scott just gave Derek a sad, pained look.

"Derek... I just-... I'm sorry for interrupting you and Stiles the other night. Stiles tore me a new one for it and I'm sorry. I didn't know that it was... well, serious," Scott whispered and Derek felt himself stiffen. Not now. He could not deal with that right now. "He really likes you and I hope that you get a chance to-"

"Scott, stop. I can't talk about that right now." Derek hadn't felt this awful since the fire, since he found Laura dead. He couldn't deal with this right now. "Any other time but now."

Scott seemed to want to object but Derek's glare made him remain silent. After a tense moment Scott just lowered his head in defeat and nodded. Derek didn't even feel bad about it. Nor did he stop Scott as he turned and left. Derek stayed where he was.

To keep himself occupied he tried to track the alpha's scent. He knew that it was probably useless but what else could he do? He had to do something. He couldn't just give up. He had no idea how they would find Stiles but he couldn't just abandon him either.

Derek looked up at the slowly rising full moon. He could feel its pull, how it too wanted him to let go and just lash out at the world as a whole. He was aching, invisible wounds causing his wolf to pace restlessly. He needed to do something. He didn't know what, just something. Stiles was out there, with the other pack, and God knew what they had planned for him. Derek felt nauseous at the mere thought.

If he had thought that it would help he would have offered himself in Stiles' place but it was obvious that the ball had already been set in motion. The other alpha wasn't going to give Stiles back before she was done with him, one way or another. It was too late for deals now.

Time passed – he didn't know how much – but it became obvious that there was no use trying to track them, even if he had managed to follow the alpha's scent as far as downtown. The other alpha was too good, knew how to cover her tracks. Derek might have punched a wall in his frustration. Only the pulverized brick was left as proof though, his split knuckles healing before he had even had time to curb all that rage again.

He headed back to the hospital and in a fit of masochistic stupidity headed straight for Sheriff Stilinski's hospital room.

Derek had no idea what to do. He wanted to – God how he wished that he had some kind of plan – but he just felt empty. Confused. Lost. They would need time to be able to find the other pack's new hideout but time was something they didn't have. The other alpha hadn't even waited for the full moon to rise before she took Stiles – there was no telling what she planned now.

Derek didn't doubt that unless they found Stiles tonight things would never be the same again, one way or another. And he couldn't let that happen. Stiles was meant to be alive. Stiles was meant to be human.

As Derek rounded the last corner he wasn't even surprised to find Scott pacing back and forth just outside the sheriff's room. His phone was pressed to his ear but his expression and posture suggested that there had been no good news since Derek last saw him. Probably not worse news either, on the other hand.

Scott looked up and bid a quick goodbye to whoever was on the phone before turning towards Derek.

"Hey! That was Danny. Apparently he and Lydia are at her house and he's been looking over the surveillance videos from the past couple of hours. He's pretty certain that the other alpha didn't come from the north or east, but that doesn't really narrow it down much. Stiles' phone is either turned off or not working because he can't find that either." Scott looked apologetic, as if he should have had better news. Derek swallowed down his own sense of loss and confusion. This couldn't be easy for Scott either.

"It's better than nothing," he answered, because it was. It didn't help them much because he had lost the other alpha's scent before it would be able to help them narrow it down further, but he could pretend to be optimistic for Scott's sake.

Derek was beginning to feel himself go numb though. He was bracing himself for the inevitable pain. He hadn't given up yet but he couldn't see a solution either.

Before Scott had time to say anything else the sheriff stepped out from his room, wobbly and unstable with his leg in a cast and only a crutch to keep him upright. He didn't seem to notice though, not when his eyes fell on Derek.

The sheriff's reaction was instantaneous but Derek saw it coming a mile away. He still let it happen. He let Sheriff Stilinski grab a hold of his collar and push him against the closest wall, nearly making himself topple over in the process. Derek did nothing except raise a hand to keep Scott from intervening.

"Hale. You have a lot of nerve." The sheriff didn't seem to know whether to hiss or shout and Derek held back his impulses to break free. He didn't like being cornered. His wolf urged him to attack the one attacking him but Derek couldn't do that. It was Stiles' father. Stiles would never forgive him. Besides, the man had every right to be mad at Derek.

"You-..." The sheriff was trembling and Derek forced himself to meet his gaze. "Stiles said that she wanted him as leverage. Against _you_. She took him because of _you_."

The accusation was like a punch in the gut.

Derek swallowed but couldn't think of anything to say. It was the truth. He contemplated just nodding but Scott was suddenly raising his voice, sounding surprisingly scandalized.

"Come on, you can't think like that!"

"Scott, stay out of this." Sheriff Stilinski was still glaring at Derek and Derek just stared back. He had no idea what to do.

"No! I'm serious! The bloody alpha was the one who took him – she's the one to blame!" Scott gestured wildly but didn't step closer, listening to Derek's command. "You want to blame someone? Then what about me? I'm the reason Stiles got dragged into this mess with werewolves and shit in the first place! He wanted to help me! Or perhaps you want to blame the werewolf that bit me? Or Stiles himself for dragging me out into the woods that night when I got turned? Not even I do that!"

Scott was breathing heavily, his face earnest and pained. The sheriff glanced briefly in Scott's direction but his grip around Derek's shirt didn't ease. Derek did nothing to free or defend himself. He couldn't. He felt so utterly lost.

His chest ached.

He could see the panic in the sheriff's eyes, smell it in the air – the panic of a parent who didn't know whether he would see his child again or not. Derek barely knew the man and he had nothing to say to that look. He could only shoulder whatever blame the man wanted to push on him.

Derek kept his wolf on a tight leash. He still wanted to fight his way out of the sheriff's grip. He was desperate for a target for his anger, but he knew that Sheriff Stilinski wasn't the right one. It was still difficult to hold it back in the face of the man's obvious hostility.

It wasn't in Derek's nature not to retaliate.

The sheriff shook him, once, and seemed to have a hard time swallowing down his tears. Derek couldn't blame him.

"If anything happens to him I don't-... I _can't_..."

Derek took a slow breath.

"I know."

Sheriff Stilinski hesitated, a brief moment of confusion, before he seemed to slump, just a little. He was still staring at Derek but the hate and anger melted away, giving room for despair. Derek didn't move. He had no idea what his own face showed – what could be found in his own gaze – but it made the sheriff sigh.

"Right... you're the last person I need to explain grief to." Sheriff Stilinski looked so incredibly tired. Derek only swallowed, not knowing what kind of answer the sheriff wanted. "I don't know what I would do without Stiles..."

Here Derek didn't hesitate though.

"I know."

_I feel the same_.

The sheriff clenched his jaw, straightening as much as his cast and precarious balance would allow. The grip on Derek's shirt loosened but still lingered enough to make a point.

"You bring him back. I don't care how or what you have to do to do it – you bring him back, you hear me? And you bring him back alive."

"Yes, sir." Derek gave a sharp nod, not even having to ask what would happen if he failed. It was impossible to miss, written all over Sheriff Stilinski's face. Derek would probably even welcome it, if it ever came to that. If Stiles actually died. He could already be dead – not that Derek would say that out loud.

"Good." The sheriff took a halting step back, unshed tears still fresh in his eyes but he seemed to have gathered some of his calm again. "You are also invited over for dinner once this mess is handled."

Derek was pretty proud of his ability not to show emotions – it gave him advantages in conversations where they could be used against him – but he knew for a fact that there was nothing, literally nothing, that could have prepared him for that sentence. His precious poker face was absolutely useless in that moment. He could only stare, caught between bewildered, honored and more than a little terrified.

"Uh-..." was his brilliant response. "Thank you?"

He was so out of his depth. The sheriff only nodded, looking grim and determined. Scott seemed somewhere between confused, pleased and amused.

"Now, what is being done to find Stiles, Jackson and Boyd? They're likely to be held at the same location, right?"

Derek was impressed by Sheriff Stilinski's ability to completely flip over to focused, determined professional. It wasn't perfect – there was a haunted look lingering in his eyes – but it was obvious that the man knew when it was time to calm down and be rational about things. Derek still needed another couple of moments to gather himself.

"Yeah, probably," Scott agreed, "but we don't have much to go on... practically nothing, to tell the truth." He sounded so sad – so small and vulnerable – that it was almost impossible to believe that he was in fact a werewolf capable of doing unspeakable damage.

"There's got to be something," the sheriff persisted.

Derek didn't want to be the pessimist that pointed out that no, there really wasn't much. He had no idea how they were supposed to pull this off.

They had been searching for Jackson and Boyd for over a day and found jack squat – how were they expected to find Stiles within just a couple of hours? If he was even alive. They had so little to go on and so much ground to cover. Not even Stiles' smarts would probably be able to offer much in this situation.

Derek should have known by then that Stiles would always – without fail – exceed his expectations.

The thought had barely crossed his mind before Derek twitched, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. Scott gave a shudder, barely noticeable, and then, as if it suddenly became the single most important thing in his existence – and that might very well have been true – Derek zeroed in on the distant but still perfectly audible high-pitched sound.

No, not just any sound.

A whistle.

A clear, vibrant whistle, shrill and annoying but simultaneously the most beautiful sound Derek had heard in hours.

It was a dog whistle and Derek knew that frequency. He might have taken extra care to memorize it, just because of who was in possession of that one whistle. That very special whistle.

Derek couldn't believe that he had forgotten about the dog whistles.

Derek straightened, his ears straining to pinpoint in what direction the sound was coming from – where he should go to find Stiles and bring him home again – and he completely ignored everything but that whistle. It was all he needed.

Hope bloomed in his chest, making him breathless with relief.

Stiles was alive. He was still alive and he was calling for them.

The pack would answer. They would find him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeees. Did anyone of YOU remember the dog whistles? I know it was a while since they were introduced but yeah, this was the plan aaaaaaall along. Because that's how I roll. I thought that my beta, [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum), was going to freak out completely at the end of this chapter x'D It was beautiful to watch.
> 
> Anyways! Yes. One of my absolute favourite chapters in the entire fic. Derek's POV is tricky but it was a fun change and I had so much to say, to the point where I wished that I would have time to write this story from his side as well. But that would kill me so no.  
> ... buuuuut I might be able to write some separate, isolated scenes from his POV if I find the inspiration for it. What do you think? Would you like to read that?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway! I absolutely loved writing it.
> 
> You can find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions! There are also popping up some smaller ficlets over there there that won't be posted here on my Ao3, for those who might be interested!


	11. Never Surrender

 

* * *

 

Waking up on a cold concrete floor with a splitting headache and pain radiating through his body was rapidly becoming one of Stiles' least favorite things to have happened to him. He rolled onto his back with a groan, sighing from relief when he was no longer resting his weight on his wounded right arm.

Fuck. This couldn't be good. Not good at all.

It took him a moment to really gain his bearings – or as much as he could do that while still keeping his eyes closed. It came to him slowly. The hospital, the she-alpha using Melissa as a bargaining chip, Stiles agreeing to come with her and then blank. She must have knocked him out, which would explain the headache. Damnit. His dad and Derek were going to kill him for getting captured. If he lived long enough to see them again, that is.

Stiles breathed slowly, in and out, and it took him a moment to realize that he wasn't the only one. He could hear someone else breathe. His eyes snapped open, seeing nothing but a dank looking ceiling that might or might not be prepared to cave in on him without a moment's notice.

"I thought I heard you waking up..."

Stiles knew that voice. Well, he _recognized_ it even if it sounded worryingly different than usual. Jackson's characteristic flare of pride and doucheyness was gone, replaced instead by a weak, breathless timbre that Stiles disliked instantly. Jackson seemed to be in immense pain.

"Wow... ow..." Stiles mumbled, mostly to himself, before he struggled to sit up. His back was aching but not quite as much as his arm, which was burning in a particularly nasty way.

Stiles immediately caught sight of Jackson and Boyd, both of them sitting chained to one of the walls with matching expressions of pain. Stiles heart was in his throat a moment later and he was crawling over to them before he even stopped to register that it might hurt him to move. And while it did he could definitely ignore it in favor of the two betas.

"Jesus Christ... don't take this the wrong way, guys, because I am thoroughly delighted to see you both alive, but you look like shit."

They were filthy, their clothes ruffled and Stiles was pretty certain that he saw blood stains and possible bruises, but it was difficult to tell in the dark.

They seemed to be in a cellar of some kind since he could spot small, rectangular windows just below the ceiling but all the rubble and spider webs told him that it couldn't be a very nice house. Probably some abandoned shack out in the woods if he was to make an educated guess.

"We feel like shit too," Jackson replied while he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the stone wall behind him. Stiles held back an urge to do something – anything – to ease their pain but his options seemed to be severely limited.

"What have they done to you? Shouldn't you be able to get out of this?" Stiles eyed the manacles and chains that both Jackson and Boyd had around their wrist, looped through a thick iron ring fastened in the wall. It looked sturdy, sure, but werewolf strength was legendary at that point and he had a hard time believing that Boyd and Jackson's combined strength couldn't tear it clean off the wall.

Jackson remained silent so it was Boyd's turn to squeeze out a raspy, pained reply.

"They make sure that we're too weak."

Stiles blinked. Okay, it had been a day so without food or water they had to feel pretty shitty by then but what about the first couple of hours? They should have been strong enough then. Stiles was just about to ask about it when he caught Boyd's eyes. The pain there suddenly made a lot more sense and Stiles just wanted to cry on their behalves.

"... oh God... they-... they beat you, don't they?"

Routinely keeping the pain and healing at such a high rate that they couldn't gather enough strength to pull free. It was a less refined version of hooking them up to electricity like the Argents had done. Stiles just wanted to hug them both even if he knew that neither of them wanted the pity. But Jackson and Boyd had been here for a _day_. Stiles didn't even want to know how many beatings that had resulted in. He just wanted to throw up, but knew that it wouldn't be productive or beneficial for either of them.

So instead he cleared his throat and forced a smile.

"Seriously Boyd, we have got to stop meeting like this." Both of them kidnapped, Boyd chained up and Stiles in the prospect of getting beaten up or worse. It was a lame shot at lightening the fucked up situation – because it was fucked up, heartbreaking and so incredibly sick that Stiles didn't even want to think about it – but it earned him a vague smile from Boyd. That had to count for something.

"Soooo..." Stiles sat down, legs folded underneath him even if it made his ankle sting. "I'm guessing you guys don't know how to get out of here?"

Jackson opened one eye to give him a bitchy look that was nothing more than a weak imitation of what he could usually manage.

"What? Are you here to rescue us?"

"Well..." Stiles hesitated because he really wasn't, not considering how he was technically a captive as well. "I'll definitely give it a shot if you want me to?" he offered with a cheeky little shrug.

Jackson just did a vague thing with his eyebrows that could have been intended as an insult or agreement. It was impossible to tell. Stiles swallowed harshly. God it hurt to see them this way. They were barely able to keep their eyes open and Stiles had no idea what they would do if they actually found a way out of the basement, because there was bound to be some kind of altercation. They were in no shape to handle that.

Stiles took a deep breath.

"Okay. Yes."

He licked his lips and closed his eyes, trying to catalogue his options. He quickly searched his pockets, finding that his phone had been taken as well as the little glass bottle of scent neutralizer and whatever herb balls he had left. So no advantages there.

His eyes snapped open.

"Hey, guys. This is really important." His urgency was clear in his voice. "Do I smell like anything to you?"

Jackson and Boyd both looked at him like he was insane, until Jackson sniffed discreetly and his face morphed into surprise instead.

"No, you don't." He blinked two times. "I can't smell you at all."

Stiles cursed, rubbing a furious hand over his head. That meant that the she-alpha must have used the neutralizer on him, probably so early that the rest of the pack had no trail to follow. That made things more complicated.

While Stiles would definitely try to get out of the basement with Jackson and Boyd he had also held a minor hope that the pack would find them before that and help them out. But now that was looking less and less probable. How was the pack expected to find them if they had already been searching for a day for Jackson and Boyd without any luck? How many hours did Stiles have left? Probably too few.

He took a deep breath and hid his face in his hands, as if that would help him think.

"Does this mean they can't follow your trail?" Jackson asked, voice laced with failing hope.

Stiles cleared his throat and nodded.

"I'm not even sure if it would have made any difference because we've been trying to track yours and haven't gotten anywhere on that, but yeah, there's no smell to follow."

"Don't you have a plan or something?" Jackson urged, as if it was Stiles job to solve everything. And yeah, while that was usually how it went Stiles felt insulted to be taken for granted like that. Working under pressure and without any real tools wasn't easy.

"Hey! I take offence to that! They apparently searched my pockets, okay? I don't have much left in terms of miracle solutions. I mean, they probably even-" Stiles fell silent when he slapped a hand on his own chest, only to feel the slight pressure of the dog whistle against his skin. He blinked stupidly for a moment before pulling it out from underneath his shirt with shaking hands. The werewolves must have missed it or deemed it harmless.

Stiles looked at the other two, both of them staring at the small silver whistle until Jackson – unbelievably enough – burst out laughing. But it was a relieved laugh so it was quite okay. Stiles was grinning pretty widely himself while Boyd chose to just smile. Stiles came back to the present rather abruptly though and placed a finger against his lips, signaling silence. They were dealing with werewolves after all and it would be easy for them to overhear the conversation if they were somewhere on the floors above. No use revealing their one and only trump card.

Both Jackson and Boyd nodded to show that they had understood the instruction. They would have to be very careful with what they said from here on out.

Stiles slipped the whistle back inside his shirt and started looking around for ways to get out of the basement. Stiles felt his fingers itch, urging him to just blow the damned thing but he knew that if he did it would still take a considerable amount of time before the others found them, and what would happen in the meantime? The other pack would undoubtedly come down and do all kinds of unspeakable, horrible things to them for trying to signal their pack for help.

No, escaping first and blowing the whistle later, if possible. That way they would be calling for backup rather than rescue and hopefully be out of immediate danger when drawing that kind of attention to themselves.

There wasn't much luck to be had though. There were no exits besides from a rickety staircase leading up to the rest of the house and while the door might not even be locked Stiles wasn't going to go up there. He was pretty certain that werewolves were waiting on the other side and they would probably be all too eager to beat him back down again.

The windows were too small to crawl out of even for Stiles which mean that Jackson and Boyd were definitely out of the question and all in all the situation began to look pretty darn grim.

They had to get out through the rest of the house, where the werewolves were waiting. Not to mention that Jackson and Boyd were still chained to the wall.

Stiles returned to the two betas and crouched next to them, inspecting the restrains again.

"Are we seriously in a torture dungeon or something? Where did they even find this shit?" he muttered as he shuffled closer, reaching over to tug ineffectively at the chains holding the two betas.

Stiles was definitely not going to be able to break them, no matter how hard he tugged, and Jackson and Boyd still seemed too weak to do it. Not to mention that the noise would bring their captors to come check on them.

"I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to help you out of these," Stiles admitted after a while.

Jackson shrugged briefly but Stiles could see how that small flare of hope in his eyes faded.

It hurt to see it happen.

Stiles wanted to say something comforting, like that they still had the whistle at least, but that was a last resort unless they couldn't get out first. Stiles glanced towards the staircase, seriously contemplating going up there. He wasn't bound in any way – the werewolves probably didn't perceive him as a threat – and he could at least get a glimpse of what was ahead of them. They couldn't have much time left before the she-alpha came to either kill or bite Stiles. He had to do _something_.

"Don't do it."

Stiles flinched, looking back towards Boyd in surprise, but before he had time to protest Jackson spoke up.

"They're coming."

It sounded ominous even if it wasn't much more than a blankly stated fact. Stiles shot to his feet and sure enough, it only took another couple of seconds before the door creaked open, light flooding in from the floor above. Stiles swallowed and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. This could be his last moment alive. They might come to kill him.

Stiles held his breath when three werewolves descended the stairs, the she-alpha at the very front. She looked adorable and sweet, like she wasn't in fact a murderous werewolf with some serious issues. Stiles still hadn't wrapped his head around that. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail which accentuated her round face and Stiles could see her freckles clearly even in the limited light.

He cast only the briefest of glances on the other two werewolves, one looking slightly familiar for some reason but he didn't exactly delve deeper into that. He was far too terrified of dying to really care.

"Glad to see that you're up, Stiles," she purred, hands shoved into the back pocket of her jeans while she weighted back and forth on the balls of her feet, like some cute, flirty girl. Stiles didn't really condone hitting people smaller than himself but he was pretty darn tempted when it came to her.

"Yeah. Can't say that I enjoy the accommodations though," he shot back while trying to hide how utterly afraid he was.

He had no idea how much time had passed since he got taken and what really constituted 'the full moon' in this case. Was it when it rose? Because that had definitely already happened. Or was it when it stood highest on the sky? Because that might still mean that Stiles had an hour or two.

"Sorry about that, the circumstances were a little rushed," she replied with a coquettish shrug, sauntering closer. Stiles stiffened but didn't back up, mostly because he might trip over Jackson or Boyd's legs if he did. "I had really thought that you would put up more of a fight, Stiles."

Okay, Stiles was not going to touch that subject with a ten foot pole. She had used his best friend's mother as bait. She could go fuck herself.

"You keep using my name but haven't even given me yours."

He was stalling, trying to buy time and gauge how close she really was to killing him. Or biting him. It could go either way at this point.

She laughed, bright and soft – so misplaced in the dingy basement they found themselves in.

"My name is Jocelyn."

She seemed completely relaxed, not threatened at all; she thought that she had won. Stiles was dying to prove her wrong but he knew that he had to be careful. Bide his time.

"Alright, Jo – can I call you Jo? I'm just going to go ahead and call you Jo." Stiles gestured as he spoke, once again doing his best to distract. "I'm not really sure what you're aiming for here and I'm frankly too afraid of ask but do you really have to do this to these poor guys?" He pointed towards Jackson and Boyd. "I mean, chaining them to a wall is just brutal. I'm pretty sure they won't be able to break out of here anyway so why not get rid of the shackles, alright?"

He didn't think for a second that she actually would but he was fishing for any kind of reaction that wouldn't result in their immediate death. She grinned, bright and amused.

"You never quite shut up, do you?"

Stiles made a stupid face, meant to signal 'yeah, maybe not', and a seesaw motion with his hand.

"It's known to happen. Sometimes."

"When you sleep?"

"No, that is actually not one of the times." Stiles glanced towards the other two werewolves but they were just observing. The one seeming mildly familiar was trying to glare holes in Stiles' head though, which was just rude. "So how about unlocking the chains?" he asked happily, as if they were talking about whether to take a trip to the beach or not.

The she-alpha wagged her finger while patting her right pocket with her other hand.

"Oh no, the locks stay locked."

Gotcha.

She was either trying to bait him or she had just revealed where she kept the key. Stiles was willing to bet on the latter though considering how utterly they underestimated him.

"Worth a try, right?" He shrugged as if it was no big deal but his mind was working with lightning speed.

She wasn't likely to take the key out herself but if he could get close enough he might be able to steal it from her. He wasn't exactly used to picking people's pockets but it was an emergency and he should have something to show for all the hours he has spent doing it in videogames. Seriously.

"Now, I would love to just stand here chatting but we're on a time schedule," Jocelyn said, drawing closer to Stiles but definitely not close enough. He had three sets of eyes on him and he wouldn't be able to just reach out and stuff his hand down her pocket.

Why was reality always so much more difficult than fiction?

"Really? Something big coming up?" He was playing dumb but if anything she seemed to enjoy it. She thought that he was funny.

"Oh, you bet, Stiles. And I've reserved a front row seat, just for you." She patted Stiles' cheek and really, why did the creepy ass mofos always have to touch him? Did he have some sort of sign on him asking for it or something?

"I guess it's too late to refund that ticket, huh?"

Her grin was wide and sharp, full of dangerous teeth.

"Definitely." Her eyes turned towards Jackson and Boyd instead. "These two however, let's just say that we don't have room for unnecessary distractions."

It was obvious that letting them go wasn't the option she was leaning towards. Stiles swallowed. Jackson and Boyd had apparently withstood whatever she had thrown at them so far but she was losing her patience. Stiles didn't know what to do about it.

"They're really stubborn – both of them. Admirably loyal. I would love to have them in my pack but they're not being very cooperative." Jocelyn smiled before she took a step closer to the chained betas. Stiles had to fight an urge to physically hold her back when he saw how both Jackson and Boyd flinched. She was sick and Stiles wanted to punch her lights out. "Perhaps this will change that."

Stiles barely registered that she was still talking because he was staring at the small plastic bag she waved in front of Jackson and Boyd. Stiles recognized that bag.

Oh fucking shit that was not what it was meant for.

"Hang on-" Stiles' hand shot out to grab the small bag of herb balls from her but she easily pulled it out of his reach, placing a warning hand on his chest instead. He could feel his heart hammering under her palm. He swallowed. "Those are mine."

"I know, sweetheart, and I also know what they can do."

How on earth could she know that? Stiles frowned but then, in a flash, things clicked into place and his gaze snapped to the werewolf he had found so familiar; the one he had fed one of the balls too.

Oh. Right. That was why it seemed to want to kill him.

"I wasn't sure what had happened to poor Eric when he came back to me but once we swiped this of off you his gestures were pretty clear," Jocelyn explained. Stiles, on the other hand, zeroed in on that one word 'gestures'. The she-alpha nodded, as if she understood where Stiles' thoughts had gone. "Whatever you put in this burned right through his vocal cords and parts of his throat. He might heal from it or he might not." She shrugged, as if it was no big deal, and that said quite a lot about how she ruled her pack.

Stiles tried not to let either of it get to him but he couldn't deny that he felt a surge of guilt. He wasn't sure what he had intended when he did his little experiment but permanently turning someone mute hadn't been it. Perhaps it would have been easier if the werewolf had just died from it.

"I don't know how you made them but I definitely know what to use them for," Jocelyn continued, a pleased smile curling her lips. Her eyes fell on Jackson. "Your bickering and bitching has been annoying me for an entire day so this seems like a suitable punishment, hm?"

Stiles felt himself grow cold. God no. He couldn't let her use them on Jackson.

"Fuck off," Jackson snarled but it was obvious that he was pretty frightened despite the bravado he tried to show.

Jocelyn's smile turned into a sour frown.

"Just listen to that. No respect whatsoever." She shook her head and Stiles was desperately trying to figure out how to solve this without Jackson getting his throat burned to a crisp. Or Stiles killed for that matter. There weren't that many options.

"Please, don't." He was not above begging even if Jackson might be,. "Don't do it."

The she-alpha looked at him but her eyes were cold and hard.

"Aww, isn't that sweet. You want to protect him?" she cooed while dumping the two remaining herb balls in her palm. If one burned through a werewolf's throat then two might very well kill Jackson. Stiles could see that the she-alpha flinched when her skin came in contact with the balls, probably burning her, but not enough to cause too much damage.

Stiles felt panic rise within him. He stood close enough to grab them from her but if he did she would probably just punch him and take them back. Stiles couldn't exactly eat them either because they contained sulfur and just no, not good for him. But if he made her drop them and they disappeared into the rubble and grime littering the floor of the basement, well, he doubted that she would degrade herself enough to crawl around on all fours looking for them. She would still punch him for it but at least Jackson would be safe.

"Let this be a lesson not to be so proud, cheekbones. This is going to cost yo-"

Stiles wasn't going to stand there and just listen to her stupid villainous monologue. If he was going to act he might as well do it now, before Boyd's subtle warning glances made him chicken out. He had no idea how Boyd had gotten clued in to what Stiles was planning but it was too late now anyway.

Stiles tackled the she-alpha to the floor – she might be a werewolf but she was smaller than him and definitely not prepared for it – his mind completely focused on getting the herb balls from her. That was probably the only reason why he managed.

She was still reeling from the sudden attack when he managed to tear them from her hand and throw them blindly towards the darker parts of the basement. He had no idea if he managed or if he had just signed his own death warrant but at least he tried.

The next moment rough hands grabbed him and he was yanked to his feet, none too kindly, the other two werewolves having intervened to help their alpha. Stiles gritted his teeth against the pain of having his wounded right arm gripped to the point of him just wanting to pass out.

Fuck, that hurt.

Jocelyn's growl was furious and she sprung to her feet in a flurry of flashing red eyes and whipping hair. At first Stiles thought that she would just snarl in his face but when he felt the grip on his arms loosen he knew that he was in deep trouble. Her hand closed around his throat, the other two werewolves backing away as if not to be caught in the crossfire. Stiles totally understood that. He would have moved away too if he wasn't too preoccupied being slammed into a wall.

Her sharp claws dug into the soft skin on his neck and he could barely breathe after the sudden collision with the rough stone. His eyes were watering with pain and lack of air but he tried not to struggle – he knew that he claws would only dig deeper if he did.

"You stupid, pathetic little _human_!" Jocelyn hissed in his ear, the fury so thick that he could almost touch it.

Stiles gasped for breath and could distantly hear Jackson or Boyd – perhaps even both of them – fight against the chains that were holding them, as if they would be able to reach Stiles and help him if they just tried hard enough.

"I should kill you, right here and now!" Jocelyn roared, her voice so damn terrifying yet still surprisingly ineffective. Not like Derek's. She wasn't Stiles' alpha so while her anger scared him he wouldn't cower – not for her.

"T-then why don't you?" he spat out through clenched teeth, feeling her grip tighten, just a little.

But he wasn't really focusing on that. No, he had just become acutely aware – even through the haze of his pain and panic – that he wouldn't get a better chance at stealing the key than right now.

The other werewolves were standing close, yes, but to her left, her right side hidden from view, and she was angry enough to be less aware of what Stiles was doing with his hands. Or at least so he hoped.

"Perhaps I will," she growled, but if she hadn't done it already he doubted that she would snap and kill him now.

He carefully reached out, his fingers brushing against the denim of her jeans. This was going to be really tricky. He needed to keep her attention away from what he was doing.

"Go ahead. Kill me."

Yes, he was an idiot. But she was definitely better than that. She wouldn't let him push her into killing him unless it was her plan.

"You seem quite prepared to die tonight, Stiles." Her voice was still full of anger and Stiles squirmed, just to make sure that her main focus was still on keeping him pinned to the wall. He didn't dare to look towards Jackson or Boyd in case they had understood what he was trying to do. "But don't think that I'll let you get away that easily."

Stiles felt his heartbeat stutter and her feral grin showed that she had heard it.

"W-what?"

He almost faltered in his pursue of the key but realized, when she leaned even closer to purr in his ear, that it was now or never. He only managed to push two fingers inside her pocket but they brushed against cold iron almost the same moment he did.

The key. God, yes, it was the key.

"I'm going to bite you, Stiles, and then I'm going to bring you out into the woods where that stupid alpha of yours can find you and then I'm going to watch you shift for the first time. I'm going to watch the horror in your eyes and _revel_ in the pain in his when you turn on him – when _I_ , your _real_ alpha – sic you on him and he's forced to kill you or be killed himself. That's what I'm going to do."

As far as evil plans went that one was pretty fucking terrifying and no, Stiles was not panicking or felt like crying. He really didn't. It just seemed like it. What he did do though was curl his fingers and swiftly, before she had time to notice, pulled the key from her pocket.

He was shaking, his hand closing around the key until he could feel it dig into his palm, but he had gotten it. Even if she bit him now he could release Jackson and Boyd and they could get out of here, with or without him.

Stiles swallowed and blinked away the sting of tears.

Jocelyn pulled back until she could see his face, no doubt finding immense pleasure in the fear written all over his expression. He knew that she wasn't kidding. That was how she planned for the night to end. She was going to turn him and let him run wild like a feral, uncontrollable animal. He could kill so many people before anyone realized what was wrong and put him out of his misery.

Jackson and Boyd were utterly quiet, probably stunned into silence, and Stiles tried to make his throat work, he really did, but it was so hard. God, he didn't want to become a werewolf.

"What? Wolf got your tongue?" she teased, and something tickled at the back of Stiles' mind.

He recognized those words. It was what Gary had said when Stiles came to ask the hunters for a wolfsbane bullet to save Derek's life; when he had proved once and for all that Stiles didn't need to be a werewolf to save lives. And that hadn't changed.

She was just another monster.

Stiles clenched his jaw and felt himself stiffen – but not out of fear.

"Fuck you," he spat, gaze meeting hers without hesitation.

She seemed taken aback for a moment or two before she, ruthlessly, pulled her arm back and punched him in the face. He might have deserved it but that didn't make the pain any less excruciating.

He stumbled and slumped to the floor, feeling blood trickle down his lips – nosebleed probably – but at least she had released him. He regretted that in the next moment when a kick landed squarely across his side, no doubt bruising his ribs. Stiles gasped for breath as he struggled not to collapse. His ears were ringing but he was pretty certain that Jackson was cursing up a storm, which was pretty surprising when you thought about it. Jackson had never really seemed that bothered about Stiles' wellbeing before.

"You need to learn some manners," Jocelyn growled, clearly ignoring Jackson's various comments about her, her mother and her inheritance in general. Jackson had to be given credit for his imagination and ingenuity though. "If you survive that will be your first lesson. You don't get to stay in my pack unless you show me proper respect."

Stiles wanted to point out that he wasn't in her pack and was never going to be, even if she bit him, but he knew that wasn't true. If she did he wouldn't be able to control it, not this close to the full moon. He'd probably shift just moments after having been bitten.

That was probably the only reason why she didn't do it right away. Instead she let him be after having growled one last time and snapped at Jackson to shut up. After that she took her two betas and left, stomping up the stairs in rage that was almost comical. Stiles groaned before rearranging himself until he sat leaning against the wall, his ribs aching and nose still bleeding.

"Are you fucking _nuts_ , Stilinski? What was that good for?" Jackson sounded angry but really, all three of them probably heard the fear underneath. Stiles had gotten hurt protecting Jackson and that wasn't something you just shrugged off. Stiles wasn't going to demand anything in return though.

Instead he took a deep breath and tried to wipe away some of the blood from under his nose, smearing it across his arm instead. He chuckled but it soon evolved into a pained cough.

"I think it turned out alright, all things considered," Stiles replied with a nonchalant shrug, eyeing Jackson and Boyd who were staring at him in confusion.

He must seem nuts to them.

Stiles raised a finger to his lips to signal silence, much like before, before he slowly opened his palm, revealing the key he was still holding on to for dear life. Fear, guilt and pain merged into elation, relief and _hope_ – Stiles could see it boldly on both Jackson and Boyd's faces.

A little ache in his nose and side was definitely worth it.

They were so getting out of here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the climax, guys! There's only two chapters left! And the last one is actually more of a 'tie some things together'-chapter than a part of the final battle an all that (and then there's the one shots of course...)  
> SOON DONE, MY LOVELIES. And oh wow what a journey it has been...
> 
> Anyways! Yes, the she-alpha finally has a name, she's a total bitch and Stiles is a serious BAMF. But we all knew that already. As always a huge thanks to my beta, [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum), for her tireless efforts with this monster of a fic. Enjoy!


	12. Battle Royale

 

* * *

 

Stiles waited a couple of minutes, partly to make sure that neither of the werewolves intended to return but mostly because he was trying to work around the pain flaring in his side. Once he felt stable enough he used the wall for support and pushed himself to his feet. It hurt but seemed manageable.

He released a slow breath before limping over to Jackson and Boyd. Stiles was beginning to feel that his dad had been right about the alarming rate Stiles seemed to be collecting new injuries. He had managed to avoid them so well before but now he was apparently catching up pretty quickly. Not only did it hurt like a bitch but it was annoying too, making things more difficult than they had to be.

Unlocking the shackles was handled as quietly as possible, so that they didn't alert whatever guards might be posted on the other side of the door, and since no one came barging in they must have managed. Jackson and Boyd were still stiff and sore but with the promise of freedom both of them gathered up a tremendous amount of last reserve energy. Stiles was suitably impressed.

They had an unspoken agreement not to talk if they could avoid it, simply to make sure that the homicidal werewolves weren't alerted of their escape attempt, and what followed was naturally a glorious display of very overdramatic facial expression and lots of waving mimes.

That came to a head when Jackson and Boyd had both gotten to their feet and Jackson wordlessly held his arm out to Boyd. There seemed to be a flash of understanding in Boyd's gaze but Stiles wasn't catching on. Not until Jackson made a breaking motion with his hands.

Oh dude, ew.

Jackson wanted Boyd to break his arm.

Sure, it was to kick start the healing as Stiles so kindly had educated them on, but that didn't make it any less disgusting. Boyd just clenched his jaw and grabbed a hold of Jackson's arm, apparently ready to do it despite how much he seemed to be against it. Stiles waved frantically to make them both stop, ignoring Jackson's annoyed glare in favor of catching Boyd's gaze. Boyd was the rational, calm one.

Stiles gestured towards some rubble and mimed kicking at them before holding up three fingers. The werewolves would definitely find the sound of cracking bones to be suspicious unless they managed to mask it under something else – which could just be assumed to be Stiles flailing around.

Boyd nodded to show that he understood while Stiles slowly lowered the first finger, followed by the second. Stiles saw Jackson brace for the pain as the third finger went down, before Stiles focused more on kicking the rubble, just enough to cause noise but not enough to make it seem like they were trashing the place.

Stiles looked back to the two betas and while Jackson's face was a mask of pain and agony it would help him in the end. Or so Stiles hoped. They were probably still weak from lack of food and water but at least their werewolf strength would return to some degree once their wounds healed.

Jackson breathed forcibly slow for about thirty seconds before nodding for Boyd to give him his arm. Boyd seemed much better off than Jackson but that might just be Boyd, not a real way to gauge how wounded he was. Especially since Boyd offered his arm without hesitation.

This was so sick but Stiles dutifully repeated the process of counting down and masking the sound of breaking bones. The things he did for these silly werewolves.

Once that was done Stiles allowed the werewolves a couple of minutes to gather themselves. There was no use rushing them even if every second counted. They needed to be fit for a fight if they wanted to get out and the healing couldn't be rushed any more than it already had.

Reality suddenly struck Stiles full force. They were breaking out. Or at least attempting to do so. It could actually work. His mind was spinning so fast that he hadn't really allowed himself to fear that Jocelyn's plan would come to pass but neither had he given himself the luxury of believing that they would manage to flee. And they might still not, depending on what they faced once they broke through the door leading to the ground floor, but at least they had gotten this far.

He swallowed down the myriad of emotions that bubbled up inside him once he thought of the rest of the pack. And his dad. God, his dad had to be beside himself with worry. And Derek was probably blaming himself, as per usual, while Scott tried desperately to make people work together and solve things. Lydia and Danny were probably off doing something brilliant while Erica and Isaac relied on each other for support. Stiles hoped that Melissa was alright. And that none of the hunters at the hospital had gotten killed. He still didn't know why they hadn't picked up their phones but he could only assume that it hadn't been pretty. Jocelyn wasn't merciful.

Stiles really hoped that it would end tonight. He wasn't even going to be picky about how it ended, just that it did. He wouldn't be able to handle more days of this utter chaos and all the pain and panic it caused. If nothing else because he wasn't fit to take any more beatings. Just fleeing would be a challenge, even if he was pretty certain that he could pull it off once the adrenaline started pumping.

A gesture on his left made Stiles look up, catching Jackson and Boyd's gazes as both betas nodded towards him, signaling that they were ready. Stiles took a deep breath and fished out the dog whistle from underneath his shirt, his fingers stroking the small silver tube.

He just hoped that the pack would hear it.

He ushered Boyd and Jackson towards the staircase with some well directed pushes. The betas seemed a little confused at first until Stiles pointed at the whistle, then the door and held up three fingers. It was better to time everything so that they lost as little of their element of surprise as possible. Scaling the steps without alerting anyone would prove difficult but if they could manage they'd gain precious seconds.

Boyd went first, agile and soundless despite his size, Jackson following suit without any problems at all. They were in better shape than Stiles had expected and he tried his best not to ruin the whole operation by stumbling. He was definitely the least graceful of the three and if anyone tripped it would be him.

His arm was wrapped around his ribs as discreetly as possible but he knew that both Jackson and Boyd had seen it already. They didn't comment though. They had to get out first. That was a much higher priority than to baby Stiles when there wasn't anything to be done about it anyway.

Boyd stopped in front of the door, looking over Jackson's head to catch Stiles gaze, one firm, simple nod showing that he was ready. Stiles made sure that he got a similar confirmation from Jackson before he raised the whistle and let it rest against his bottom lip. He held up three fingers, feeling his heart rate pick up at the prospect of what would happen as soon as he had folded the last one.

Hell would break loose and he would be a frail, defenseless human in the midst of a group of battling werewolves, but there was nothing to do about that. They had to get out.

A breathless moment followed where all three of them stared at Stiles' fingers as he slowly counted down. Boyd tensed, as if he was gathering strength to push open the door and probably take out whoever was on the other side before they had time to react. A lot of this relied on the element of surprise but they would still have to navigate a house they knew nothing about. But if Boyd could tear through opponents like usual and leave things relatively open for Jackson to keep the others at bay while they searched for the exit, then they might actually manage.

Three.

Two.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, knowing that the longer he could keep blowing the better.

One.

The whistle was practically soundless to Stiles but it must have hurt both Jackson and Boyd's ears something terrible, even if they knew to expect it and had experienced it before. The second after Stiles started blowing Boyd pushed the door open and Stiles barely had time to catch sight of a confused, agonized werewolf before Boyd decked her to the ground. Her hands had been covering her hears, making her completely defenseless.

Jackson suddenly grabbed Stiles' left arm, dragging him up the stairs after Boyd had disappeared through the doorway. Stiles would have asked what the heck he was doing but he was too busy not swallowing the damned dog whistle.

"Stay behind me," Jackson hissed and Stiles didn't have time to really confirm or oppose that order before hell did indeed break loose.

He could hear roars from other parts of the house but they seemed confused and disoriented, probably due to the whistle, and Boyd was already throwing another werewolf into a wall by the time Jackson pulled Stiles over the collapsed one just outside the basement door. Stiles didn't know why Jackson felt it to be his duty to protect Stiles but he wasn't going to complain. It significantly improved his chances of survival, which was always a plus.

By Stiles' count there were seven enemy werewolves, the alpha being one of them. Their chances weren't great if they decided to stay and fight but that wasn't their plan. They were going to escape first and foremost, not try to win the entire war.

Stiles gasped for breath as his lungs emptied of air, but before he had time to start blowing again he had to dodge out the way of a werewolf that came barreling from an open doorway. Jackson was suddenly there, tackling the werewolf lacrosse style so that they both crashed into the doorframe, the frail wood almost snapping under the gathered weight of the two werewolves.

Stiles gave the dog whistle another blow, partly in hope of bringing the other werewolf out of balance and partly because the more time he could give the rest of the pack to pinpoint their position the better.

Jackson used the small flinch the other werewolf made at the reintroduction of the no doubt shrill, high-pitched whistle to his full advantage by grabbing and banging the werewolves head against the doorframe once, twice and a third time. The werewolf wasn't unconscious but definitely dazed enough for Jackson to deem it safe enough to leave it there.

Stiles was already heading towards Boyd, who had disappeared to the left up ahead, no doubt in search for the exit. Stiles could hear signs of a struggle and when he followed Boyd's path he soon stumbled out into what seemed to be a foyer. The house was pretty darn big but Stiles hadn't really bothered to look closer. It was grey, run down and filthy. More than that he didn't care.

Jackson rushed past Stiles to jump to Boyd's aid when he stood facing two werewolves on his own. Stiles was pretty certain that the whistle wasn't making any difference in the fighting anymore but he kept blowing, still trying to give Derek, Scott, Erica and Isaac enough time to find them.

"Get the human!" Jocelyn's roar managed to be deafening even above the sound of the fight.

Stiles' gaze snapped upwards, to the second floor which could be reached through a staircase on the other side of the room. Jocelyn was up on the landing, looking furious like only an alpha could. Her eyes were flashing red, her face twisted and morphed in transformation but that really wasn't Stiles' main issue.

They had to get out of there. Fighting an alpha definitely wasn't within the realms of what they were capable of at the moment.

"Shut him up! Catch the human!" Jocelyn was clearly realizing what Stiles was trying to accomplish and he had apparently just become the main target. Great.

Jocelyn took an impressive leap over the banister and landed on the first floor just a couple of feet away from Boyd. Unluckily enough for her Boyd was the one with an actual brain and he had clearly anticipated that she would. The moment she came within reach he swung around, so suddenly that while she had to be a great deal faster than him she didn't quite manage to dodge the elbow he rammed into her face.

It had to hurt, even for an alpha, and she stumbled backwards with a pained groan.

Jackson gave his opponent a kick to one knee – fighting dirty was definitely okay in a situation like this – while Stiles dived for the front door. He wasn't going to just stand there and wait to get eaten. Besides, he could hear the few werewolves that hadn't crossed their path yet pour into the foyer and probably one or two that Boyd and Jackson had already beaten down once.

Stiles flung the door open, the whistle slipping from his mouth as he did so. A hand clamped down on his neck and he was just about to struggle against it when he realized that it was Jackson, pushing him outside with one hard shove.

"Run! We'll hold them off!"

Stiles turned to object but the word died on his lips when he caught Jackson's gaze.

He had a point.

Stiles was injured and human – whatever head start he got could be the difference between life and death. If he just got far enough and remained quiet the werewolves wouldn't find him since he was still drenched in the scent neutralizer. Now was not the time to be heroic, even if every fiber in Stiles' being told him to stay and help. But there wasn't much he could help _with_.

So instead he nodded, turned and ran. His shaking hands found the whistle again since he could still afford another couple of seconds to help their rescue find them.

He took a deep breath and blew, trying to ignore that he could still hear the werewolf battle behind him. Jackson and Boyd would be fine. As long as they got outside the house and could split up and run in different directions it would make it more difficult for the other pack to pin them down.

Stiles had no fucking clue where he was going because he had no fucking clue where he was to begin with but he figured that anywhere but in the near vicinity of any of the murderous werewolves was a safe bet. He let the whistle slip from his lips when he had gotten far enough from the house that it would only help his enemies find him too, and continued to stumble along in the dark. He could barely see the light of the full moon through the trees and that might be just as well. He didn't want to be reminded about what Jocelyn had in store for him if she caught him, because she would definitely try; he was sure of that.

It felt as if every inch of him ached; his ankle was still not healed, his ribs were stinging to the point where he was gasping for breath long before would usually feel exhausted and his arm had to be kept close to his body to avoid him pulling the gashes. He was such a mess. If he managed to pull through without dying he was going to demand a week's rest, at the least. Preferably someplace where Derek was close by.

God, Stiles missed him. He couldn't have been gone for more than three hours, tops, but he was already missing his stupid, gorgeous, grouchy alpha. He just hoped that Derek was coming.

It didn't take long before Stiles had to slow his pace into what could barely be called a jog. He was running blind and while adrenaline had carried him through the house and out into the woods it was waning fast. He had no idea if the noises he thought he heard were real or just his panicked imagination running wild but he didn't have the strength to keep a faster pace.

It was all very reminiscent of the night that had started all of this – when Scott had gotten kidnapped and Stiles ended up wandering the woods when he tried to flee from both werewolves and hunters, but he didn't dare to hope that Derek would be the one to find him.

A sudden rustle made it obvious that no, that was not Stiles imagination and the growl that followed shortly after had to mean that it was one of the bad wolves, not Stiles' pack. Damnit.

He whirled around, trying to pinpoint where the werewolf might be hiding but Stiles' ability to see in the dark was severely limited – especially when compared to the predator hunting him. He did have the advantage of the werewolves having stupid glowy eyes though, so the moment he caught a flash of golden in his peripheral vision he dove forward to get out of the werewolf's reach. He could feel claws nip at the collar of his shirt but it didn't quite manage to grasp him. His body screamed in protest and Stiles would have collapsed on the ground if it wasn't for the fact that he just couldn't give up now.

His dad would never forgive him.

His knees nearly buckled but he managed to right himself somehow, sucking in a sharp breath before he took off running. Stiles didn't even care who the werewolf was, he just needed to get away from it – and fast. Too bad he was in such a shape that running was almost completely out of the question.

The werewolf took up the chase and Stiles tried to dodge between trees and make the odd turn here and there but it was doing more to tire him out than actually slow the werewolf down. He couldn't keep it up. Stiles was too tired and had too many injuries; the werewolf would catch him.

The realization was like a punch in the gut and as if on a cue he stumbled, almost crashing into a bush as he did so.

Then, a sharp whistling sound followed by a pained howl.

"Stiles!"

Stiles collapsed against the trunk of a tree, his left shoulder resting heavily against it as he looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. He was panting loudly by then, barely remaining on his feet. Another sharp sound, a responding growl and suddenly Stiles caught the movement of another person some distance away. He threw a glance towards the werewolf, two arrows sticking out of its chest, and suddenly all of it made sense.

A hunter. Arrows probably meaning Allison.

Stiles nearly whimpered in relief.

Thank God.

Stiles forced himself to straighten before he stumbled in the vague direction of where Allison had to be, but made sure to be well out of the arrows' trajectory. When he caught the first sight of her she didn't spare him a glance, fully intent on keeping the werewolf at bay. He was all for that.

Once he nearly collapsed in a pile at her feet Allison reached for another arrow from one of her two – two? – quivers. She took aim and Stiles was pretty sure that he saw her whisper 'I'm sorry' before she released the arrow, a pained grunt signaling that it had found its mark.

"Come on." She reached for him, pulled him to his feet and started leading them away from the werewolf.

"Wha-?" Stiles felt confused, glancing over his shoulder. "What about the werewolf?"

Allison stiffened, just a little, while her gaze hardened, but Stiles could see some frailty there.

No, not frailty – uncertainty. Almost as if she was worried about what Stiles would say.

"The arrow's tip was laced with wolfsbane," she explained tonelessly.

Oh. That meant that the werewolf would probably die within the next couple of minutes, considering how deadly Allison's aim was. And that was also why she looked so uncertain; she had just killed someone. In front of Stiles. And he had been pretty open with what he thought about her actions during the end of the kanima incident.

Stiles swallowed before making her stop, her brisk pace having taken them a rather significant distance already. Stiles wasn't okay with killing but he wasn't going to hate her for it either. Not this time. That might be hypocritical of him but he'd gladly admit it if it would wipe the troubled look from Allison's angelic face.

"Thank you," he said in earnest, making sure to meet her gaze and truly convey that he meant it.

Her shoulders relaxed and a smile, weak and a little shy, spread on her lips. Then, all of a sudden, she was hugging him, heedless of his injuries. Had he been less of a dope he might have told her that it did in fact hurt a little but now he just hugged her back. It felt great to see a familiar face. Stiles didn't allow himself to really feel it but he was besides himself with worry for Jackson and Boyd, but had so far been able to ignore it by focusing on his own survival.

"God, it's great to see you," Allison mumbled and Stiles squeezed a little tighter.

"Right back at you."

Allison pulled back, the brief moment of mutual comfort apparently over. She gave him a quick smile before she once again tried her best to support him, leading them in a direction Stiles assumed was the right one. He put all of his faith in Allison at this point.

"We've been searching for you for hours but it wasn't until the werewolves heard the whistle that we knew where to look. The pack plus every hunter still on their feet is out here," she explained as they walked, her pace slightly faster than Stiles could really manage but he wasn't going to complain. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Jocelyn and her pack were still out there.

"What happened to the hunters at the hospital?"

"They'll make it. It was a close call for one of them but they'll pull though."

That was a relief.

Stiles gasped when he stumbled over a log but Allison didn't budge, allowing him to rest more of his weight on her. God, she was so badass. If Stiles had even been half as cool as her he would have been set for life.

"She didn't bite them?" It was the she-alpha after all and she seemed to be recruiting.

Allison shook her head though.

"No, probably because they're hunters. I guess she didn't want to risk turning her enemies into tougher opponents. If they allowed themselves to be turned they'd just try to kill her and her pack."

She had a point and Stiles nodded mutely. He tried to focus on walking for a couple of minutes but questions were bubbling inside of him – questions he really needed answers to.

"How-... how's my dad?" His voice trembled.

"Furious. You're probably going to be grounded for the rest of the year." She tried to make a joke out of it and Stiles appreciated that. Too bad that it was a real possibility. "He wanted to come with but my dad forbid him. That was an interesting conversation."

Stiles could bet it was. He was even a little disappointed to have missed it.

He knew that it was technically a way to give away their position if they kept talking but he really couldn't help it. He was so worried and Allison made him miss everyone else so goddamned much.

"And Scott?"

Allison smiled.

"He's out here. Not quite sure where right now but they're all here, trying to help." She paused for a moment. "Derek too."

Stiles hadn't wanted to ask about his alpha because it felt mean to do so, but when Allison was the one to bring Derek up, well, it made it a little more okay.

"He's pissed too, right?" Stiles gave a lopsided smile. Allison responded with a soft laugh.

"More like murderous. If he runs into any werewolves from the other pack, well, let's just say that it's not going to be pretty."

Stiles chuckled. He had no trouble believing that. Derek was vicious when angered and this was definitely one of those times when it seemed likely that he would go all out.

"It's... really going down tonight, isn't it?" Stiles asked after a beat or two.

He met Allison's gaze and she took a deep breath before she nodded.

"We've had enough – all of us." The fierceness in her voice told Stiles that they might actually be able to win the whole ordeal too.

Allison came to a sudden halt. Stiles was lucky that he still had his brain with him because that meant that he managed to catch himself when she released her hold on him to whip out her bow. She had an arrow aimed before Stiles could blink but he did catch sight of her target the same moment she did. He just reacted a fraction of a second faster, his hand shooting out to grab the arrow, of all things, before she had time to release it.

"Whoa! Wait!"

Allison quickly lowered her bow, an expression of genuine remorse written across her face when they both realized that she had almost shot Erica. A pretty understandable reaction because if it had been a werewolf from the other pack her response time could have saved their lives, it just looked a little bad when it turned out that it wasn't.

Erica swallowed nervously but seemed to gather her wits pretty quickly.

"I can't find Boyd," was her way of greeting as she hurried towards them, focusing more on Stiles than Allison. "Scott and Isaac found Jackson and they're taking him to safety but we haven't been able to find Boyd."

Stiles took a careful, measured breath. Jackson was fine. That was something. Boyd would be fine too, he was sure of it. Boyd was tough – tougher than most of them – and he was clever enough to avoid detection.

"Okay, then we'll-" Stiles was interrupted when he was once again enveloped in a crushing hug, this time from Erica, and like last time he hugged back, just as tightly. "Happy to see you too."

"Jesus, don't ever do this again, okay?" Erica muttered against Stiles' ear. "Both Derek and Scott have been unbearable while you were gone. Don't ever get kidnapped again. I'll go nuts and kill them both to spare my own sanity."

She said it lightly, like it was a joke, but there were undoubtedly some grains of truth in there somewhere. Stiles chuckled.

"I'll try my best."

Erica pulled back with a smile but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Allison looked a little uncomfortable but not enough to shy away from them.

"Come on, let's find Boyd." Stiles knew that he was in no shape to do that but he couldn't send Erica or Allison on their own either and he needed someone to guide him. So better they just join forces.

It seemed to make Erica relax at least a little while Allison nodded to show her approval.

The three of them continued on, Stiles doing his best to walk without aid and once he got going it wasn't really that difficult. It hurt but he could do it. The woods seemed completely silent to Stiles but Erica's head kept whipping back and forth, as if she could catch stray sounds every now and then.

That was why Stiles wasn't all that surprised when Erica suddenly stiffened.

"I-... I think I hear them. This way!"

'Them' was not a good sign but if Boyd was in trouble they would definitely help him.

Stiles wasn't even sure how he managed to force his body to keep on moving but he did, even if it was at a much slower pace than Erica and Allison managed.

"BOYD!"

Stiles heard Erica's terrified scream long before he actually saw what was going on, but the moment he did he understood the panic in Erica's voice. Jocelyn was there, with Boyd. There were no other werewolves in sight but one was definitely enough when that one werewolf happened to be an alpha.

Boyd could barely stand, blood glistening on his skin and clothes while Jocelyn ruthlessly continued to attack him time and time again, obviously intent on killing him. Cold, hard fury was burning in her red eyes and Stiles was struck by how lethal and insane she actually was.

Another couple of seconds and Boyd would be beyond saving.

One of Allison's arrows forced the she-alpha back a step, which gave Erica enough time and distraction to grab Jocelyn and drag her away from Boyd. That wasn't going to last long though and Stiles looked to Allison for possible directions. This was her area of expertise.

"I can't use the wolfsbane arrows without risking to hurt Boyd or Erica," she hastened to say while she took aim again, using arrows from the larger quiver – free of wolfsbane apparently. "We have to distract her so that Boyd can get away."

"Oh? That simple? That won't be a problem, trust me," Stiles replied.

Jocelyn wouldn't miss a chance to dig her claws into him.

Erica gave a pained shout when the she-alpha threw her off without much effort and Stiles could see the moment Jocelyn turned to face Boyd again, probably to finish him off.

"Hey!" Stiles shouted loud enough to catch Jocelyn's attention. Her red eyed zeroed in on him and the feral, vicious grin that spread on her lips was enough to send a terrified chill down Stiles spine. He swallowed. "Uh... okay. That worked better than planned." Stiles stumbled backwards when Jocelyn took a leap towards him. "Next brilliant idea?" he shouted to Allison as he dodged behind a tree to get away from the seriously vengeful she-alpha.

"Erica! Get Boyd out of here!" Allison ordered.

Stiles didn't have time to stop and see if Erica was obeying but he chose to assume that she did. He was busy dodging Jocelyn, which he was pretty certain that she _allowed_ him to do because she wanted to play some with her food first.

That changed when another arrow whistled between the trees, nicking her arm. Jocelyn roared in fury and Stiles dared a glance backwards, seeing how the she-alpha turned on Allison instead, fangs bared. While Allison was pretty darn kickass Stiles knew that her biggest strength was long-range weapons and that not even she would survive a close encounter with an alpha.

So he did what he did best.

"Hey, Jo! I thought that you were supposed to bite me? Changed your mind? Or are you just not up for it?" He spread his arms wide – as if he was offering her a free buffet – while taking several steps backwards, taunting her. Jocelyn hesitated, growling low in her throat. Stiles saw Allison reach for another arrow and he prayed to God that it was a wolfsbane one. They needed to slow Jocelyn down as much as they possibly could. "Hey, I get it, sometimes we humans are just that awesome. And I'm totally-"

He didn't get further before the she-alpha threw herself at him again and he had to dodge out of her reach – barely managing this time. Perhaps he had pissed her off a little too much.

A vehement curse from Allison was definitely not what Stiles wanted to hear because that had to mean that she had missed, wolfsbane arrow or not. Stiles stumbled a couple of steps, his balance seriously shot thanks to the various wounds he had accumulated and he wasn't surprised in the least when he felt a strong push and went tumbling to the ground.

Stiles could hear Allison's panicked shout but he was more concerned with flipping onto his back and crawling backwards, away from the triumphantly growling werewolf. Jocelyn eyes were glowing, her transformed face bloodthirsty and ruthless, and Stiles knew that he was done for when she raised her hand, sharp claws on full display. He wouldn't survive that.

He sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

And then he heard it.

It was the same kind of inhuman, horrifying roar from when his arm had gotten hurt and it shook the trees with its force, making Stiles' breath catch. He only knew one person who could sound so _furious_.

Stiles' eyes snapped open, meeting Jocelyn's gaze for a brief second – fear and doubt flashing across her face – before she looked up, at something behind Stiles. And just like that Stiles could feel hope fill his chest.

Derek rushed past Stiles without hesitation, colliding with Jocelyn and sending them both tumbling to the forest floor in a tangle of sharp claws and snapping fangs. Stiles gasped for breath as he stared at the battling alphas with wide eyes. Derek somehow managed to use the momentum of their tumble to push Jocelyn off, sending her crashing into a tree. Derek was on his feet in the next moment, snarling menacingly as he charged again, but Jocelyn was just a second behind him, meeting the attack with enough skill to show that she had been doing this for a while.

Stiles swallowed and staggered to his feet, heading for Allison. While Stiles didn't doubt that Derek was one kickass alpha he had never fought another one single-handedly before and Stiles wasn't going to assume that he would win just because he was bigger and stronger. Jocelyn had some serious skills.

"Allison! Wolfsbane arrow! Now!" he shouted as he hid behind a tree to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Derek and Jocelyn where too focused on each other to really bother with the terrain or the two petty humans watching them tear each other apart.

"What? But-" Allison sounded confused, probably because she could still hit Derek by mistake.

"I trust you!" Stiles interrupted, wincing when Jocelyn dug her claws into Derek's shoulder. She was smaller and much faster and it was obvious that she tried to get to his vulnerable points by utilizing that to the fullest.

Allison met Stiles' gaze, her hesitation obvious, but Stiles didn't see any other way for them to help.

"I trust you, Allison," he repeated, trying to convey how he wouldn't blame her even if she missed and hit Derek instead. He would be distraught, yes, but right now Derek might die anyway. And he did trust her. Allison wouldn't miss. "I trust you. Shoot her."

She took a deep breath before giving a sharp confirming nod, reaching for the wolfsbane arrows in one fluent, graceful movement. She took aim and Stiles held his breath, even if he knew that it might take a while before she found an opening.

His attention returned to the clash between the alphas and his chest clenched at how much damage they had already managed to take and cause. Derek was bleeding from several scratches, his shirt torn and bloody, but Jocelyn wasn't fairing much better, her hair a wild tangle by then. Both of them seemed to be vibrating with sheer power and Stiles was pretty certain that he would never see anything quite like this again. This was two alphas battling with the intent to maim and kill, sparing no expenses. It was impossible to really judge who was winning but Stiles had to hold back a shout of both fear and alarm when Jocelyn managed to sweep Derek's feet from under him.

Derek hit the ground with a muffled groan and Jocelyn was on him the next moment. Stiles wanted to rush out and help but Allison released her arrow before he had even taken the first step.

For a second Stiles thought that Allison had managed – Jocelyn was a clear target, straddling Derek – but the she-alpha made a lightning quick sweep with her arm, catching the arrow mid air. Jocelyn didn't even stop to gloat, she just raised the arrow, now clutched in her hand, and turned back to stab Derek with it.

The wolfsbane was just as lethal for him as it was for her.

"NO!" Stiles couldn't help it. The moment he realized what Jocelyn was aiming for it just slipped out. Derek was quicker than that though – and so was Allison.

Derek caught Jocelyn's wrist, the tip of the arrow just inches from burrowing down in his shoulder, but Allison had already fired off another one. This time Jocelyn didn't have time to duck or catch it and it hit her square in the back, just below her ribs. The she-alpha roared in pain and fury, but instead of stopping it just seemed to drive her to push harder, leaning her full weight on the arrow she was trying to ram into Derek – as if she was hell bent on taking him with her. Derek used both hands to hold her back but there wasn't much space left.

Stiles was stumbling towards them even if he knew that he wouldn't get there on time.

Derek hissed and for a horrible moment Stiles thought that she had succeeded – that Jocelyn had managed to pierce the skin. But in the next second Derek moved one of his hands, releasing the hold he had to keep her from stabbing him and instead grabbed the arrow, just behind its head. It snapped and without hesitation Derek turned it on Jocelyn instead and rammed the broken off piece deep into her neck.

Stiles screeched to a halt, staring as Jocelyn stiffened, gasping for breath around the poisoned arrowhead lodged in her neck. She seemed to sway, caught by surprise by the turn of events no doubt, and for a moment she looked almost sad. As if she couldn't understand what was happening; where it had all gone wrong.

Stiles swallowed, not sure how long it would take for the wolfsbane to take effect, but it seemed that Derek wouldn't risk waiting for that.

Without mercy Derek ripped the arrow out again, blood and other juicy bits following along. Jocelyn convulsed, giving off a pathetic, disgusting gurgling sound that Stiles wished that he would never have to hear again. Derek discarded the arrow before reaching up and burying his claws in her throat. Jocelyn struggled against it, clearly not out for the count yet, but it was feeble, ineffective attempts to stop the inevitable.

Stiles quickly shut his eyes but just like before he still knew what happened. He could still hear it. Jocelyn's whimpering gasps cut off abruptly and Stiles clenched his hands to shut out the imagery.

His worry for Derek got the better of him though and he opened his eyes again a couple of seconds later, just in time to see Derek push Jocelyn's limp body off himself. Derek was covered in blood and various wounds but he was alive. Stiles made an unintelligible sound and staggered the last couple of steps towards Derek while his alpha climbed to his feet, a little less gracefully than usual.

Stiles was just about ready to collapse from relief and exhaustion.

To Stiles' surprise Derek seemed to snap to attention again, his eyes flashing red.

"Stiles! Stop!" Derek barked, holding out a hand as if to physically keep Stiles from coming closer.

Stiles frowned but Derek wasn't looking at him. Derek was staring ahead and Stiles slowly followed the line of his gaze, his eyes landing on Allison.

Allison, who stood with her bow raised and arrow aimed straight at Derek. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat and he held his breath. Her face was an expressionless mask, revealing nothing, but she didn't lower her bow.

This couldn't be happening.

Derek couldn't survive a battle with a furious alpha only to get shot by Allison. Stiles understood if Allison was still grieving her mother but she couldn't do this – it wasn't like her. She just couldn't.

Derek didn't move, apparently not sure what to do when someone he had thought was an ally was now aiming a lethal arrow towards him.

"Allison... please, Allison." Stiles realized that it was him talking, his voice trembling with fear.

God, he didn't want to lose Derek now – not to Allison's fucked up revenge scheme.

She blinked one, twice, before meeting Stiles' gaze. It was like a spell had been broken. Allison took a slow, deep breath before she lowered her bow, giving Stiles an apologetic little smile. Stiles dared to breathe again. He knew that she was better than that.

"Okay, now can I hug you?" Stiles blurted out, turning towards Derek, who still seemed hesitant to trust Allison. Stiles couldn't exactly blame him.

Derek frowned.

"Hug me?" He made it sound like a completely foreign concept and Stiles rolled his eyes while marching over.

"Yes, you brute, hug you. The alpha is dead, you are alive, I am alive – which, let me tell you, is a miracle in itself – I think this requires some hugging."

Derek almost flinched back when Stiles' reached him.

"But I'm-" Derek didn't get any further before Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, heedless of both of their injuries, and hugged him. "... covered in blood," Derek finished lamely.

Stiles snickered.

"So am I, genius." Well, he had had that nose bleed so he wasn't exactly clean either, was what he intended to say but that required too many words. "Now hug me back."

Derek let out what seemed to be a mix between a sigh, a scoff and a laugh but he did wrap his arms around Stiles' waist. For a moment the grip remained loose and almost fleeting but the second Derek's mind seemed to catch up it tightened, almost to the point where it hurt. Stiles let him, turning his head and burrowing it as closely to Derek's as he possibly could.

"I know," he whispered softly, feeling Derek's grip turn desperate, panicked almost. "I know. But it's okay now. I'm fine."

Derek didn't say anything – didn't make a sound – and Stiles just kept hugging him. Stiles was trembling, either from the adrenaline or slowly fading panic, but it didn't really matter.

Derek didn't let go. Derek held him just as closely as Stiles clung to Derek.

God, Stiles had been so afraid that he would never see Derek again – that either of them would die before it was over. So he just held on, pulling as close as he possibly could without crawling under Derek's skin. And if Stiles felt a couple of tears fall, well, no one could hold it against him. After what he had been through he could cry all he wanted.

He didn't though, but only because it felt so much better to give a delighted, surprised laugh when Derek nuzzled his neck. Stiles grinned like a moron, running his hand through Derek's hair, just because he could. Relief and happiness was bubbling up inside him, wild and unstoppable.

They had survived.

Stiles pulled back enough to kiss Derek at the corner of his mouth, laughing stupidly against Derek's stubbly, blood stained cheek. Derek just scoffed but he seemed to be smiling.

They had survived.

Awesome.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand there you go! I hope you liked the final battle (in lack of better things to call it). I've been worrying myself to death over it not being exciting enough but my beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) assured me that it was good x'D 
> 
> The remaining chapter will deal with some wrapping up and cutesy fluff. Because we deserve that now, don't we?  
> Anyways. It's soon over, my friends. Or, well, the MAIN parts are. On Friday you will get the last chapter but I will also post the first one shot that takes place a while after the events in Keep the Wolves at Bay. There is a total of eight one shots and I will post one a day, starting on Friday. So you have that to look forward to if you're not prepared to let this fanfic go just yet ;)


	13. Aftermath

 

* * *

 

"Um... guys, I hate to break things up but you should probably head back. Get Stiles to safety and all that."

Oh. Stiles had forgotten all about Allison. Whoops.

He tried to turn towards her but Derek wouldn't release him far enough to do more than look over his own shoulder. Stupid, possessive werewolf alpha. Stiles might just be reveling in it though, secretly.

A little.

"Sure. You're going to stay?"

She nodded and pointed in some random direction, indicating the rest of the woods.

"My dad's still here and there might be other werewolves left, even if the alpha is dead."

Right. The danger wasn't technically over yet.

Stiles nodded as seriously as he could while still being squished against Derek and his ridiculous muscles. All the blood should really be a turnoff but Stiles was kind of fine with it, at least right now. He'd probably be less forgiving later.

"Be careful," he urged. He had nothing against handing over the responsibility to clear the woods to the hunters. They were equipped to handle it; Stiles wasn't.

"You too." She smiled and gave them both a nod. "See you."

Stiles took a moment to watch her leave before he turned back to face Derek, allowing his right arm to slip a little lower to ease the strain on his wounds. Derek had apparently gotten over the short lapse in control where he clung to Stiles for dear life but Stiles didn't really mind. He liked Derek's grumpy stone face. And this wasn't even his grumpy stone face, more like the face he used when he tried to hide that all he wanted to do was smile. It was a nice one.

"I trust that you know how to get back home," Stiles mumbled while moving close enough to lean his temple against Derek's. His alpha nodded and Stiles smiled. "I think you should carry me there."

Derek snorted.

"I'm not going to carry you."

"Aww, come on, I'm wounded," Stiles whined, collapsing dramatically against Derek and forcing the alpha to hold his weight unless he wanted to see Stiles flop to the ground.

"So am I," Derek deadpanned, but really, if he could be snarky then he would be fine. It was true for both of them. Besides, Derek carried Stiles' weight without even breaking a sweat. "You would just fidget until I got tired of it and dropped you on purpose."

That seemed pretty likely and, truth be told, Stiles wasn't a damsel in distress. He could walk fine on his own. But that didn't stop him from giving a suffering sigh before he straightened, eyeing Derek with a pout.

"You are ruthless."

"I'm the alpha. I'm supposed to be."

Stiles tsked and shook his head.

"Grumpy." He took a deep breath. "Now let's get out of here. I am still far too aware of the corpse lying just a couple of feet away and I'm doing my best not to look at it but I will look, so help me God, if we don't leave right now and then I'll puke all over your shoes. Which is like the only still relatively clean part of you." Stiles raised an eyebrow as he observed Derek's boots. "I'm honestly not even sure how you managed that."

Derek choked on a laugh before he without any further prompting started pulling Stiles in the direction that would lead them homewards. Or so Stiles assumed. He had no idea.

Derek did not carry him but the alpha did stay very close and allowed Stiles to cling to him despite how annoying that had to be. It was almost better than being carried.

The walk back was uneventful. Stiles had a feeling that Derek made sure of that because they changed directions vaguely every now and then, as if they were taking detours around something, but Stiles wasn't going to question it. Derek surely had his reasons. At least Derek made sure that Stiles was safe, which was quite necessary at that point. One faint gust might make him collapse.

That was one of the reasons that Stiles frowned when Derek started quickening their pace, to the point where Stiles was having trouble keeping up. He barely had time to do more than give Derek a confused look before the alpha explained.

"Erica and Boyd are up ahead."

Stiles blinked and suddenly he didn't mind the pace at all. Erica and Boyd hadn't gotten far, which had to mean that Boyd was still in very bad shape. Stiles swallowed and tugged on Derek's shirt.

"Come on, I can go faster." Stiles could tell that Derek wanted to rush ahead but to leave Stiles alone seemed a bit stupid, even with Jocelyn dead. Moving slightly faster would have to do.

It was too dark for Stiles to see clearly but Derek must have spotted Erica and Boyd quite early, judging on how he stiffened and stared unflinchingly in front of them.

"Go on, it's okay," Stiles urged as he pushed Derek to make him walk even faster. "I'm right behind you."

Which might have been a lie – and the look Derek gave him suggested that he knew that too – but eventually Derek relented and jogged ahead.

Stiles kept his eyes on him, following as fast as he could but he was just about ready to drop. When he caught up Derek was helping Erica stabilize Boyd, who seemed just barely conscious, and within moments Stiles had forgotten about his own aches. All three of them focused on getting Boyd some help as fast as possible, eventually reaching the road where the Camaro stood parked.

Erica and Stiles tumbled into the backseat while Boyd sat slumped up front, where he would have more room. No one really commented on Derek's less than safe driving and nor that he seemed to be heading for Lydia's. It was still the only werewolf-proofed house, just in case there were stragglers from the other pack; not to mention that they still had supplies for emergency first aid there.

Scott and Isaac ran out to meet them when they parked in the driveway, both of them giving Stiles a couple of friendly bumps and pats before they helped Derek get Boyd inside. Stiles allowed himself a deep, cleansing breath before he limped over to Erica, who seemed a little lost, standing there by the parked Camaro. They were all so tired by then.

Stiles wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and pulled her close enough to place a kiss on her temple.

"He'll be fine. He's almost as tough as Derek, seriously."

She took a shaky breath before she nodded, discreetly wiping her eyes. Stiles smiled and made sure to steer Erica so that they eventually went inside the house, where a flurry of activity was already ensuring that Boyd was escorted to the living room and given the best care they could offer.

Lydia and Danny seemed to be in charge of patching up the werewolves and were directing Scott, Isaac and Derek on what needed to be done. Danny gave Stiles a rushed pat on the back when he hurried past and Lydia smiled briefly, if a little tensely, before she turned back to helping Boyd.

Stiles made sure that Jackson was there, already taken care of and crashed out on one of the couches by the looks of it, before he allowed himself to relax. They were all there. The pack was safe.

Thank God.

He had almost expected to feel a panic attack looming on the horizon now that he finally allowed himself to uncoil and the crisis was over but he was utterly calm. He felt relieved even. There were still things to fix, people to talk to, bodies to bury and all that but it was finally over. The threat had been handled.

The other pack was gone.

Stiles sighed and rubbed his face, ignoring the fact that his hands were probably covered in grime and blood, before he gently urged Erica to sit down. All of them were bound to crash pretty soon, what with it being well into the middle of the night and all, so they might as well be comfortable.

Stiles threw a quick glance at the people surrounding Boyd and as if sensing it Derek looked up, catching Stiles' gaze. It made Stiles smile and he gestured mutely that he intended to leave the room. Derek frowned a little, as if there was something wrong with Stiles disappearing out of his sight – stupid, possessive, adorable alpha – but nodded after a brief moment. Stiles shook his head with a fond smile before he went.

He took a detour to the kitchen and fetched that last t-shirt he kept stored in his backpack before he headed for one of the bathrooms to clean off. Most of the blood on him had transferred from Derek but that didn't mean that he was any more comfortable with having it on his clothes and skin.

His arms felt weak and sluggish, his ribs aching in protest when he made too sudden movements, but he managed to get through cleaning off the worst of the blood and dirt at least, donning the clean t-shirt once he was done. Most of the scent neutralizer would hopefully be gone too, but he wasn't sure if it really mattered to anyone except perhaps Derek. He was, on the other hand, pretty important to Stiles by then so yeah, he hoped that he'd been able to wash it off. Derek seemed to like when he was able to smell Stiles' scent.

Stiles braced his hands against the sink and leaned forward, taking a precious moment to just catch his breath. It was over. The she-alpha had been defeated, her pack members scattered all over the woods, more than likely dead. The pack had survived even if they would still mourn the loss of at least two of their allies. Heck, they were a pack. If it hadn't been for Jocelyn and her werewolves they wouldn't even have united in the first place.

Stiles wouldn't have Derek.

He glanced up into the mirror above the sink, not the least bit surprised to find that he was looking quite ruffled and pale. The bruise on his cheek from Jocelyn's punch looked painfully red in contrast to the rest of his skin. But he was alive. He was exhausted enough to feel his arms tremble and ached all over but at least he was alive. They had done it.

His sudden laugh came as a shock, even to him, and it eventually turned into something closer to hiccupping sobs. He wasn't really crying though – he was just so incredibly relieved. Stiles had been so certain that it would all go to hell, especially when Jocelyn had threatened to bite him and let him loose in Beacon Hills.

Fuck, that would have been horrible.

He was so never going to tell Derek about that. He'd probably go all broody and self-hating.

Stiles cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his head, feeling the familiar tickle of his buzz cut under his palm. It was really over.

He lingered for another couple of minutes, until he realized that he was swaying dangerously on his feet, before he straightened and left the bathroom. Instead of returning to the living room immediately he padded through the rest of the house, collecting the blankets and pillows he and Scott had used for a bed last time. Stiles had a feeling that something similar in terms of sleeping arrangements would occur tonight and he was damned well going to be comfortable.

He dragged his loot into the living room, where most of the chaos seemed to have settled. Erica sat with Boyd's head resting in her lap, Boyd either sleeping or unconscious. Lydia and Danny were cleaning up with Isaac and Scott's help, but the latter looked up the moment Stiles came within view. Scott was by his side in an instant, helping him drag the significant pile of blankets and pillows to a more strategic location.

Once that was handled Stiles found himself thoroughly hugged. He didn't even hesitate one second when it came to returning it.

"You have no idea how worried I was," Scott mumbled, carefully patting Stiles' back, as if he wanted to make sure that Stiles was still in one piece.

"Oh, I can guess. You were the first one to get kidnapped, remember?" Stiles teased. Scott laughed and let his arms drop, his smile radiant. "And I wouldn't have made it without Allison. She deserves a lot of the credit for this."

Scott's face morphed into that stupid expression he got whenever he seemed to think that Allison had hung the moon somehow. Stiles rolled his eyes and slapped Scott on the side of his head.

"God, you are embarrassing." Stiles was smiling though so it took the edge of both the slap and his words. "She'll come around, Scott. I know she will. Just give her some more time."

She had made a tremendous improvement just tonight, when she chose not to shoot Derek when she so easily could have. But all in due time. And if she changed her mind about being in love with Scott, well, that would be fine too, even if Stiles wouldn't look forward to picking up the pieces Scott would undoubtedly shatter into.

"She said that she'd come by once they're done out in the woods," Scott explained, his smile more tentative now but still hopeful. Stiles grinned and patted his shoulder.

"That's good. She'll need rest and support too. Be nice to her." Which really wasn't something he needed to remind Scott about, but still.

A slight shiver travelled down Stiles' spine all of a sudden and he looked over his shoulder, meeting Derek's gaze. Derek, who seemed to have gotten patched up too sometime during the roughly thirty minutes Stiles had been gone. He was wearing a white t-shirt that seemed to be a little too small – probably Jackson's considering where they were and what was at hand – but Stiles wasn't going to complain. It was pretty obvious that he didn't actually, considering the dorky grin that bloomed on his face.

He held out his hand, beckoning Derek to come closer, and it wasn't until Derek hesitated that Stiles remembered that they were in semi-public. It was just their pack, sure, but they hadn't told anyone but Stiles' dad and Scott about _them_ yet and holding hands might not be what Derek wanted.

Stiles' smile faded as he felt himself grow cold and a little numb.

Right. He could deal with that.

Stiles had time to start lowering his hand before Derek suddenly snapped back to attention and actually hurried over to take it. Stiles blinked stupidly, staring at their joined hands, but he felt that momentary flash of dread settle and ease away. Derek seemed awkward, sure, but he didn't seem to _dislike_ it, just find it to be a little too public.

Stiles couldn't help smiling, squeezing Derek's hand.

Scott looked to be caught between teasing them and giggling but one look from Derek made him straighten and school his features. Stiles could still see the amusement sparkling in his eyes though. That was fine. It was better than Scott outright rejecting the idea of Stiles and Derek together. Stiles wanted Scott's support. There was still a long and serious talk in their immediate future – he couldn't imagine that Scott would settle for that one they had had right after he interrupted Stiles and Derek in Lydia's bathroom – but tonight was not the time. Stiles could barely stand at that point.

He didn't know if it was Derek's glare or something else but Scott decided to make himself scarce, even if it was just to the other side of the room, where he joined Isaac and Erica in a hushed conversation. Lydia sat next to Jackson while Danny was off doing something else, hopefully getting things settled for sleeping. Stiles would very much like to sleep now. Preferably on top of Derek, in a completely non-sexual way. He just didn't want to be alone and while Scott was awesome Derek was even better.

The thought had barely crossed Stiles' mind before he felt Derek move closer, warm and solid next to him. Stiles didn't hesitate to slump against him, just a little, knowing that Derek probably wouldn't even notice the added weight. A smile spread on his lips when he felt Derek's nose nudge against his neck, searching.

"I take it I managed to wash it off?" he asked in a tired murmur.

Derek replied by burying his face against Stiles' neck, which was as good as a yes, Stiles had managed to get the scent neutralizer off.

Stiles yawned widely and let his hand wander into Derek's hair, drowsily letting his fingers run soothingly through it. God, he was so tired. He could probably fall asleep standing up.

"Why don't you just go to sleep?" Derek rumbled quietly next to Stiles' ear. Stiles shrugged, eyelids threatening to drop even as he made an attempt to check on the rest of the pack again. They were all fine though. All of them were safe.

"Too tired," he mumbled back.

He thought he heard Derek scoff but he couldn't quite be sure.

Derek let their hands untangle before he wrapped his arms around Stiles and pulled them both down onto the pile of blankets and pillows Stiles had brought. Stiles considered protesting for a while until he remembered that this was what he had wanted in the first place. Exactly this even. Derek was muttering something about Stiles being stupid and stubborn but really, that was one very black pot picking on an equally black kettle.

Stiles burrowed down under the blankets and settled only when he had Derek right there next to him, calming and firm against his back. He didn't even care what the rest of the pack would think – what Derek would think – he just wanted to sleep. The fact that he could do it all wrapped up in Derek's arms, well, that was what made it one of the best nights of his life, despite the life threatening situations and the blood and the fights.

To clearly demonstrate this he grabbed Derek's wrist and wrapped his alpha's arm around himself, much like a blanket. Derek huffed out a laugh against Stiles' neck.

"You are impossible."

"Shut up," Stiles grumbled tiredly, not in the mood for talking. "I'll apologize for getting kidnapped tomorrow."

Stiles could feel Derek move just a little closer and something Stiles' chest seemed to melt and explode at the same time, leaving him with this achingly sweet – bordering on painful – feeling in his chest. God, he was such a sap and he was so, so incredibly happy.

"And what makes you think that I'll forgive you for it?" Derek whispered amusedly, his breaths soft puffs of air against Stiles' skin.

Stiles felt his lips twitch into a smile.

"We'll call it even. I'll forgive you for almost dying if you forgive me for almost dying."

Stiles felt warm lips press against the back of his neck, a shiver travelling through him at the intimacy in that one, simple act.

"Deal."

Derek's grip tightened, just a little, and Stiles wondered how he has supposed to be able to sleep when his heart was beating so fast. He could feel Derek pressed up behind him and while he knew that things would probably look very different in the morning he couldn't help reveling in whatever closeness he could get. It felt so incredibly awesome.

"Go to sleep, Stiles."

"That's what I've been trying to do," Stiles muttered sullenly, snuggling a little closer.

Derek didn't reply and in a matter of seconds Stiles was out like a light, Derek's arms wrapped around him like a secure, warm blanket.

Stiles wasn't sure if he had ever felt this safe in his entire life.

 

 

"Oh my GOD! Dad, come on!" Stiles thumped the roof of the Jeep as if that would make his dad finish his conversation faster. If he had known that driving his dad back from the hospital would take this much time Stiles would have refused to do it in the first place.

Although that wasn't true.

His dad might be able to move better now after getting even more time to heal but his leg was still in a cast and his ribs more than a little sore. Someone had to drive him and of course that someone would be Stiles. Because it was his dad.

Melissa smiled at Stiles' antics before she gave Stiles' dad a not so subtle push towards Stiles and his waiting car. She looked positively brilliant today with that wide smile of hers, the sun shining in her dark hair. Stiles found himself missing his mom something terrible, but it was a manageable kind of ache. Besides, he had Melissa, as she so boldly had proclaimed once she saw him again after the full moon – the night he had traded his life for hers.

It had been when Stiles and Scott had headed to the hospital the morning after all of them had crashed at Lydia's. Partly to get Stiles' bandages changed but mostly because the need to see his dad was like a burning ache at that point. Stiles had been able to ignore it in favor of sleeping but the moment he had woken up he knew that he had to see his dad, as soon as possible. He needed to let him know that he was alright, even if Stiles was sure that his dad had gotten the news already. There was still a difference between hearing and actually seeing.

Melissa had been there, rushing from the nurse's station the moment Scott and Stiles came within view. She had hugged Stiles close, so desperately close, and whispered that he was under no circumstances allowed to do that again. He had agreed even if they both knew that it was a lie – he would, in a heartbeat, if it saved her life – and she had told him that if he ever needed anything, anything at all, he should come to her. It wasn't said because she knew that he had something to say – it was a long standing offer for support and care.

Stiles had pretended that he hadn't become a little misty-eyed in that moment.

Seeing his dad again had been both painful and such a huge relief that Stiles had just started crying. He hadn't meant to and was surprised by the reaction himself but his dad handled it calmly and just hugged him, much like Melissa had. Stiles had blurted out several apologizes, promises and weak assurances during those moments with his dad and he would do his best to keep them all; he didn't want something like this to happen again.

A week had passed since then and things had been hectic. Stiles had spent most of his time with his dad, explaining what had happened and what was going to happen, while keeping in contact with the pack and the hunters.

To his surprise Kim and Walter had come to visit him in person two days after the full moon, to let him know how glad they were that he had survived. He didn't doubt their sincerity even for an instant and had complimented them on a job well done. They explained that all the werewolves from the other pack were accounted for – which was just another way of saying that all of them had been killed – and while Stiles felt a little nauseous he couldn't help also feeling incredibly relieved.

Stiles and Scott went to Gary and Felicia's funerals the day after that. He had a feeling that his dad might have been involved in how easily it had been for the hunters to bury their two fallen comrades right there in Beacon Hills. Neither Gary nor Felicia had any relatives to claim their remains so Walter and Kim saw it fit that they be laid to rest on the battlefield where they died.

Stiles felt that that was a little bit too macho warrior for his tastes but he was secretly glad that he was able to attend. While Stiles hadn't know Gary that well he could still mourn the fact that he and Felicia had died, but at least the two fallen hunters would have someone stop by their graves every now and then if they were buried in Beacon Hills.

Stiles would definitely come by when he had the chance.

The remaining hunters had left shortly after that, not wanting to outstay their welcome, and Stiles had been relieved that they didn't seem to make any attempts to hurt his pack. That had always been a risk – that the hunters would turn on them once the bigger threat was handled – but both Kim and Walter assured him that they would leave on peaceful terms and allow Mr. Argent to keep track of the Beacon Hills pack. It was not their problem.

They had offered Stiles to come with them though and train him to become a hunter, but it was obvious that they knew that he would decline. Respectfully of course – it was nice to know that they thought that he would be an asset – but he was needed in Beacon Hills. His pack needed him.

Stiles had seen very little of his pack the past couple of days though, first because they had helped the hunters set things in order, and then because they had deserved some time off to just recharge their batteries. They had kept in touch of course, but it seemed that most of them wanted some time apart to sort through and handle the crisis they had just managed to survive. Stiles was completely fine with that even if he missed them, especially Derek.

Except that one morning when he had woken up still pressed up against Derek he hadn't gotten much time with his alpha. They had both been preoccupied with other things and the few moments they got were always in company of someone else – sometimes even Stiles' dad – which meant that they kept most of their touches and urges to themselves.

That didn't stop Derek from running a couple of fingers down the side of Stiles' neck, every time they went their separate ways. Just a fleeting, soothing touch that soon seemed to become a habit that neither of them wanted to go without. Stiles could still feel the caress if he focused hard enough.

All in all the aftermath of the full moon had been stressful but eventually handled. The hunters had gone home, the rival pack was defeated, Stiles and his pack was on the mend and would soon be back on track, his dad was out of the hospital and it was just a matter of time before they could enjoy the summer like they were supposed to – like normal teenagers.

Stiles grinned and thumped the car roof again, his dad rolling his eyes while he maneuvered himself carefully towards the Jeep on his crutches. Stiles would have helped if his dad would have let him but now he just shared a private little smile with Melissa over how utterly stubborn his dad could be.

"Scott and I will come by later tonight, alright?" Melissa called as she took a step backwards, towards the entrance to the hospital.

"Yeah, see you then!" Stiles called back with a cheerful wave, before he dove into the car and grinned towards his dad, who was cursing while trying to fit the crutches inside the Jeep.

"I am never doing this again," his dad muttered and seemed just about ready to toss the things out through the window. Had he been able to get them that far, that was.

Stiles snorted on a laugh and helped his dad to arrange the crutches until they were out of the way of Stiles' driving and not poking his dad in any uncomfortable places.

"I also trust you not to run us into a ditch."

"What? Dad! My driving is perfectly fine!" Stiles replied, insulted. Granted that he had gotten a bit better at speeding than was commonly acceptable but he had no intention of doing that _now_ ¸ with his dad – the sheriff – in the car with him.

"I'll believe it if I see it," his dad shot back.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

A smile was twitching at the corner of his dad's lips and Stiles felt a matching grin spread on his own.

"You do that, son."

Stiles reached out, briefly squeezing his dad's hand before he turned the key to start the ignition.

Yeah, things would be fine.

 

 

Thunder was rumbling outside, the sky dark and menacing, but for some reason Stiles didn't really care. He was in fact humming cheerfully to himself as he made his way downstairs, only a slight limp lingering by then. Scott and Melissa had left an hour ago after the four of them had shared dinner and Stiles' dad was now benched in front of the TV. Or asleep in front of it more correctly considering the late hour but Stiles didn't have the heart to wake him. He did turn the TV off though, just in case.

After that he wandered into the kitchen, searching for something to snack on. It was technically time for bed but it was ages ago since Stiles stopped caring about that. His energy was a difficult thing to curb and right now he was going into overdrive. It was the first time he had really relaxed since the whole business with the other pack had started and the result was that he found a thousand things he wanted to do, all at once; things he had postponed because of the crisis.

He settled for an apple and a bottle of water – if Stiles' dad was eating healthy then so was Stiles – before he walked back to his room again. The flash of lightning outside should probably have felt creepy but Stiles couldn't bring up the necessary amount of interest to care; not after having been kidnapped by a murderous werewolf alpha and her pack. Everything else seemed pretty tame in comparison.

He took a big bite out of his apple as he strolled back into his room, heading for his trustworthy laptop that was waiting for him on the bed. The soft glow from the screen was the only light available, which might have been why he missed entirely that Derek was sitting in his computer chair until a bright lighting flash made him notice.

Stiles would have shrieked like a little girl if he hadn't been chewing on his apple. Now he just reacted by throwing the water bottle at Derek's head. It was pure reflex – survival instinct probably – but Derek caught it expertly and without as much as a blink.

"Your reflexes are improving," Derek stated casually, as if it was completely normal for him to suddenly appear in Stiles' room, probably having climbed in through the window when no one looked.

Sad part being that it _was_ normal, at least for Derek.

Stiles choked on his apple before he remembered to take it out, chew and then swallow.

"Are you _insane_?" he hissed as he hurried over to the door and closed it. "My dad is sleeping on the couch downstairs!"

Derek tilted his head to the side, just a little, but didn't otherwise reply. God, Stiles hated how much he found that to be adorable because it was also stupidly annoying.

"He will shoot you if he finds you here! He might not have done so yet but you being here, in my room, this late, when we're alone? Not okay, Derek." Stiles was waving his arms, apple still clutched in one hand.

Derek rose from the chair, placing the water bottle on the desk before he pointed towards the window with his thumb.

"You want me to leave?" Said in a completely neutral voice.

"No, you idiot, of course I don't want you to leave," Stiles replied with a huge sigh. He reached out and tugged at Derek's shirt to make him come closer.

Derek obeyed without protest and a smile spread on Stiles' lips, even when Derek took the opportunity to take his apple from him and place it on the desk as well. There didn't seem to be much rain outside despite the thunderstorm because Derek's leather jacket was only dusted with small drops. Stiles could think of several things to say – different conversations he could start just for the sake of talking – but instead he reveled in the silence, his forehead leaning against Derek's.

It was peaceful, even with the storm raging outside, and Stiles shuffled closer when Derek let his hands rest on Stiles' hips, easy and without any kind of hidden agenda. It was nice. Comfortable. Safe. Stiles felt so incredibly safe.

But that only lasted for so long. Stiles was still a teenager after all and this was Derek Hale – a gorgeous, willing man alone with Stiles in his bedroom – and some kissing was definitely due. Derek didn't seem to mind; Stiles was even pretty certain that he heard a low hum of approval when their lips met.

Stiles knew that they wouldn't do anything more than that because a) his dad was still downstairs and might wake up at any moment, b) Stiles had forwarded his dad's demands and Derek had agreed, no sex being one of them and c) it was still illegal. Stiles wished that it wasn't – he cursed the fact that he lived in a state where the age of consent was eighteen – but that was just his life. At least they could still make out. And thank fucking God for that.

But it wasn't like they were in a hurry and that might just be the best part of it all. Even the threat of getting shot didn't seem to deter Derek much considering how he just pulled Stiles even closer, his kisses deep and his hands firm on Stiles' hips. It didn't take long before Stiles felt lightheaded but it was the best kind of lightheadedness he had ever experienced. Kissing Derek was still pretty mind-blowing and Stiles was sure that it wasn't just his lack of knowledge on the matter that was the cause for it.

Stiles' hands wandered over Derek's clothed chest, innocently almost in the way he explored, because really, who wouldn't? Who wouldn't choose to touch Derek when they had the opportunity to do so without any harmful repercussions? Stiles was going to appreciate this to the fullest, especially since Derek made no move that indicated that he was uncomfortable with it. Stiles was willing to take whatever he could get, especially considering how little he had seen of his alpha this past week.

God how he had missed him.

But they were here now, both of them, and Stiles was so utterly grateful for that. Not just because they were both alive but because he hadn't thought that he could have something like this. He hadn't thought that Derek would want it or that they would ever reach the point where they would actually admit it. The road hadn't exactly been easy but it was definitely been worth it and Stiles was so glad that he had actually made the effort, just like Danny had suggested.

It was worth it.

Stiles' heart seemed to be swelling with how utterly and completely _happy_ he was. As the kisses grew softer and lighter he felt that achingly sweet feeling fill his chest, causing him to smile. God, how Derek could make him smile. The storm was still rumbling outside but Stiles really couldn't care less. He was completely content with what he had right here, right now.

"Well... I guess something good came out of all of this," he mumbled against Derek's lips.

Derek's nose nudged against Stiles', humor coloring his voice.

"You are so corny."

"Yeah, I guess I am," Stiles agreed, his smile turning into a wicked grin as he let his arms slip around Derek, underneath his jacket where Stiles could feel the warmth of his skin so much better, even through the fabric of Derek's Henley. "But I'm still glad it happened. I'm not happy about the death, mayhem and general state of panic I've been in for weeks now but this? This I like."

He looked into Derek's eyes, feeling strangely calm despite the stupidly embarrassing things he was saying.

Derek didn't answer – not with words anyway – and instead just trailed his fingers along Stiles' neck before cradling his head and pulling him into another kiss. A deep, searing kiss that completely stole Stiles' breath away. Stiles didn't have to be a genius to know that that was Derek's way of agreeing. It was Derek's way of saying that yeah, he felt the same. And in that moment that was all that mattered.

They were alive, they had their pack and they were together. Stiles couldn't ask for more than that.

But the kisses were definitely a plus.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... that's it, guys. It's over. We've reached the end of the series. Am I the only one feeling a clench in my chest?  
>  Okay, fine, there are eight one shots to upload as well but the main story is over. The journey has been awesome and I want to thank all of you for the support and love you've shown me. The reception has been beyond my wildest dreams. So thank you. It means a lot to me. Thank you for the comments, kudos, subscriptions and taking the time to read this monster of a story.
> 
> Special thanks goes to [Citruspocket](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Citruspocket/pseuds/Citruspocket) for being there with me thoughout the series, [Kimchisan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kimchisan/pseuds/kimchisan) for her enthusiasm and encouragement, [morgandeeyue](http://morgandeeyue.tumblr.com/) for the letter you wrote that literally made me cry out of happiness, [Sjazna](http://sjazna.tumblr.com/) for withstanding all my rants and being my guinea pig and last, but definitely not least, my ever lovely, ever awesome beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum). I could probably have done this without her but it wouldn't have been half as fun or worth as much as it is now. That's basically the summary of our entire relationship right there.
> 
> The first one shot will be up later today and one will be posted each day until I run out. So perhaps I'll see some of you again?
> 
> You can also find me at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you feel so inclined.
> 
> But with that, without further ado, The Thunder Moon Chronicles has ended. I hope I gave you something memorable.


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